


Burial of Nightmares

by FrancoStrider



Category: Soul Calibur
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Redemption, Retelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28292718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancoStrider/pseuds/FrancoStrider
Summary: Note: Now divided into eleven chapters, all around 5000 words, as was recommended to me. Stay safe out there!"Burial of Nightmares" is a retelling of Soul Calibur 3, focusing primarily on Siegfried and a number of characters I consider the "main cast" involving with the series' major events. I'm taking from both the original series and a bit of Soul Calibur 6 to fill in the backstory up to the first scene (excluding the time travel and Aval Organization plot).As a primer, the story starts just after Siegfried frees himself from Soul Edge (with the unintended help of Raphael). And I hope that the rest is explained through the plot. But, most of all, I hope you all enjoy!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. Blades of the Furies

Salia Olschmidt ducked into the small shack, through a small basement window she was barely able to still crawl through. She hid herself behind one of the old tables, and waited for the heavy steps of the local guard outside to pass by. As he walked by, calmly by the sound of things, she gave a sigh of relief, and smiled.

_We eat well, tonight!_

Casually, she cast the small coin purse onto the dirt floor in front of her, the fattest one she had ever lifted. And the look on that noble’s face! Completely clueless for all the town to see…

_Can’t wait to show Landau._

Just as she was about to open the purse, the proper basement door opened. She froze, her hands on the purse and gaze on the stairway before her. But then, a boy’s face, under a mess of blonde hair, looked down at her with bright blue eyes and smiled, and, as quietly as he could manage, scampered down.

“Scared the hell out of me, Siegfried,” said Salia, giving some space on the cold, dirt floor.

After he sat down, Siegfried Schtauffen shrugged.

“Lord Vogel throws a fit over a missing purse,” he said, “demanding heads and any other limb that comes to mind. I _just figured_ I’d check in.”

“Caught,” she said with a smile.

“I imagine your set for a while,” he said, but then opened the small sack about his shoulders.

Steam and a beautiful aroma filled the air, as Siegfried reached in and produced muffin and handed it to her. With her stomach growling, she snatched it from his hands and inhaled it like a serpent eating an egg.

“Your mom’s the best,” she said, between bites as she basked in every blueberry and grain that graced her tongue.

“I try to play coy with her,” said Siegfried, “but I think she knows where I go.”

But then the boy frowned, letting out a sigh as he held the other muffin in his hand. Once Salia finished off the last crumb, she raised a brow.

“You alright?” she asked, her mouth cleared of crumbs once more.

“Dad’s still off in those ‘crusades’,” said Siegfried.

Salia nodded, recognizing his melancholic gaze.

“He’s been sending coin our way,” he went on, “but… the next one is coming in late. She’s stubborn as always, but…”

While she did not care for the idea, she nudged the coin purse toward him. He shot up his brow.

“I’m sure there’s enough for both of us,” she said, “ _and_ Landau and the others.”

Siegfried pressed his lips together, and then shook his head.

“I’m not taking from you,” he said. “I have a roof over my head, you…”

“We’ll be fine,” said Salia. “If a local _lord_ can’t find us…”

And then, Siegfried pushed himself on his feet.

_“No!”_

Salia blinked.

“I’m sorry…?”

“What are we even doing?” he said in frustration. “Robbing people? Scraping by while the rest of the town just moves on?

“What do you expect us to do?” said Salia.

But the boy was not finished. “To do? _Who is doing anything?_ Heinrich’s father gets mugged on the way here, and the guard gives him a shrug? We’re barely holding on, because of some war in some land we barely know?”

Finally, Siegfried gave himself a moment to breathe, before turning to Salia and kneeling.

“Listen to me,” he said. “Friends barely older than us get dragged off to war, given steel, armor. And I’ve been outside with the heaviest stick I could find, swinging and…”

“What…?” said Salia, rubbing her head and still trying to put the fragments of his scatterbrained plan together. “What are you talking about?”

“We got that coin, right?” said Siegfried, an oddly hopeful look in his eyes. “We could have our meal, and move on to the next spoiled lord. Or—hear me out—we visit the smithy. We get our own steel, take our own tasks, and make bandits regret ever eyeing our roads.”

_Oh, Christ above…_

“You want us to become mercenaries…”

“That’s exactly right,” said Siegfried, “we can scrape by watching the outside of the pub, and then… go from there. We train, we can teach ourselves… how hard could it be?”

“So…” said Salia, “your answer to keeping us out of danger is to put us _into_ danger?”

“That’s…” said Siegfried, the cogs in his head switching directions, “certainly a way of putting it, but…”

But then his face went stern.

“Those crusades are going to come for more of us,” he said. “So whether it is that, or for that coin purse…”

And that’s when she felt that cold weight in her stomach. There was a thrill to being unseen, to snatching an unknown amount of coin from someone who did not need. And she had lived, her parents lost without a footnote in the pages of history, by these rules, by her own game. But, as bullheaded as he was, Siegfried was not wrong. One of these days, maybe even soon…

“Most of us don’t know how to fight,” she said. “The black eyes I see on Landau.”

“Then he’s already taken the first step,” said Siegfried. “We get hit, we strike back. And once we have enough, we find our own house, our own home. Wooden floors, furs…”

The ground felt really cold then and there.

“We’re already thieves,” she said.

“We can be better.”

She looked up to Siegfried.

“Maybe we’ve anger a few people,” he said. “But we can win others over. Heinrich’s father doesn’t have to come home empty handed any longer. My mother won’t need to scrape by, and we’ll carve our way into the hearts of others.”

Salia sighed. “I think you’ve read about Sigurd one too many times…”

“We can be heroes,” he said.

_Heroes…_

Now there was a word Siegfried, herself or the others had not used in quite some time. As kids, they were knights, their sticks in their hands were swords, and any empty plain they could find were great battlefields or the lair of dragons. Even with war so far away, a child’s imagination had no limits.

Yet, the limits of growing older would weigh on them soon. But somewhere in even Salia’s practical mind, she yearned for that old stick a dog hid away years ago. Can it be a sword? Can they rise? Will lords and royalty look upon them as dependable, and not as the urchins that they were?

The ground against her backside was an odd kind of comfort. Cold, though it was, she knew it was hers, and she knew very few could find her. But Siegfried was right. Someone, at some point, for some reason, will kick down that door, will drag her away and she will be lost.

_Not if I kick first…_

Pressing her hands against the floor, she stood to her feet. All the while, Siegfried watched, as though surprised that his harebrained scheme worked. After dusting herself off, she picked up the coin purse from the ground, grinning at its thin but decorative violet design. Just from feeling the weight, she knew it was not remotely close to what Lord Vogel’s coffers held.

But it was enough.

Siegfried opened his hand, and Salia gripped it. With her other hand, she gave him the coin purse.

“I’ll find Landau and the others,” she said. “You get those swords ready.”

Siegfried gave a proud smile, his brow lowered and face red with a new joy.

“Let’s be heroes then.” 

As Zasalamel stepped through the empty halls of the castle of Ostrheinsburg, the bottom end of his steel scythe echoed with every step. In meager light, the dark shapes of the fallen laid strewn about, the dry remains of their blood filling the cracks and dents upon the walls. Many wore their armor, but many others lay with just the clothing of local commoners. All of them lied with glassy, widened eyes speaking of their final, terrible moments of agony. So many souls, who would occupy nary a footnote in history, lost…

_No, far, far worse than lost._

The deeper he had walked through the forsaken halls, the more he felt the old, familiar presence. To say it was from his younger days was, of course, deceiving. Memories from hands of a past life, mightier than he possessed then and there, returned to him. A bloody battlefield, his own bloodlust, the screams of so many soldiers long forgotten, the utter battle drum of his heart and the glaring eye in the face of the weapon he swung… The sword would take him, of course, but he was, to his knowledge, the only one to recall the killing blow through his own heart.

_Soul Edge is near._

But even after many lifetimes, of many names and of both man and woman, surprises are still found. Soul Edge should not have shattered to the plain steel of a young woman. And yet, it had, and its pieces spread like wildfire across Europe. The Azure knight took up the blade, his name unknown, and only _then_ did its opposite, the Soul Calibur, return to the fray.

_But it always returns…_

As he walked through a curve in the hall, rays of moonlight cast its light through a set of stairs. Without stopping, he stepped through the stairs, and, finally, black starry sky welcome him through the doorway at the top. A great chapel opened before him, its pews and rooftop long since scattered, Half of the floor collapsed, separating him from the golden pipes of an organ glinting with the stars at the other end.

In the stain glassed moonlight upon the stone floor, a familiar hilt stood, its sapphire blade entangled in a hardened, tentacle-like stretch of roots. Zasalamel traced down the length of the blade with his golden eye, and after a moment he realized that it was plunged into the side of another blade. Around it, blackened pieces of steel were scattered.

As he stepped closer, he grinned, as it was appear that this generation had, yet, another curiosity in store for him.

_Soul Calibur had plunged through the eye of Soul Edge!_

This was not the first time that accursed blade had fallen, but never like this. He stepped closer. Yes, that presence was familiar, too familiar for any one man, but there it was. Somewhere, in that entanglement, the cursed sword still had a fraction of life. It would not be enough, not for his own purposes.

But countless lifetimes did not leave him a fool.

His eyes swept through the chapel once more. First, he caught sight of a pauldron, and then a breastplate whose leather straps had burned, and then a gauntlet for a left hand. At first, he thought its blue coloring was a trick of the stain glass windows, but then he found a full helm with a singular horn sticking out from the forehead.

_The Azure Knight…_

But where was the man himself?

He had heard legends that the cursed blade leaves nothing behind of the man who held it, but he knew better. Somehow, the eye of Soul Edge was pierced and the wielder’s armor was cast aside, and, perhaps, escaped?

Answering that question, he knew, would leave him very little. But then he jabbed at the pauldron once more. To the naked eye, there would be nothing but a bent piece of steel, but Zasalamel’s golden gaze saw memory, saw bloodlust, within. Like within the shattered pieces of Soul Edge, the cursed blade left its mark, its hold and, most importantly, its thirst.

And like a small seed, it was enough.

Zasalamel lifted his left hand, as the scattered pieces, of the Soul Edge and the cursed knight’s armor, clattered upon the ground slowly converging with each other. Weakly, light rose from the shattered eye of the cursed blade, and a violet-crimson light began reaching from its edge and enveloping the azure pieces of armor. Its steel boots stood, and, like copper filling the mold of a statue, the armor built itself until standing upright like a man. In between the plates, the eerie light continued to emit, before ashy muscle filled in. And so this muscle grew, up the legs, filling the breastplate, its left arm and up its neck, and—

The sorcerer stepped back as his golden eye widened. He gripped the shaft of the scythe in his hand as he watched the ashen muscle take a strange turn. Zasalamel thought nothing of the missing armor for its right arm, but then it began to grow beyond what its body should have, twisting its five fingers into three claws, opening and closing as though feeling had returned, as a tusk like spike protruded from its shoulder.

And then the blackened pieces began to rise, gathering about this creature’s armored left hand. As they spun in place like many falling rocks, the eerie light returned, enveloping the pieces, gathering all into a long shape. The light subsided, leaving a blade in the walking armor’s hand red and jagged, with the faint circle of an eye staring out from the void within.

The armored hand took a firmer grip of the twisted hilt, as two red eyes burned from inside this creature’s helmet, glaring at the sorcerer.

“Good,” said Zasalamel.

The eyes burned brighter as it took its first step. An orchestra of metal echoed through the chapel as a growl called out from within. Another step followed, another echo, its hate palpable from where the sorcerer stood.

“You hunger, do you not?” asked Zasalamel.

The creature stopped, balancing itself between that deformed hand and the great sword in its grasp. And then its eyes turned, facing the hilt of Soul Calibur.

“Oh, there will be time enough to pry yourself from that sword’s grip,” said Zasalamel. “But you will need your strength once again.”

_“Souls…”_

Even after so many lifetimes, the sorcerer felt a shiver listening to the creature’s words. All wielders hungered for such a thing, but standing there before him was hunger incarnate. Everyone who sought the blade had a reason, of course, but whatever reason this echo of the previous wielder possessed, it had been stripped down to bloodlust.

And that was all the sorcerer needed.

“Head southwest,” said Zasalamel. “An old, forgotten temple in the Alps where you were once held. It is there where you will truly be freed. And there will be many souls on the way.”

The creature growled once more, turning to the one of the walls. It marched, its steps sure, gripping the deformed hilt in his hand as the blade glowed. It lifted the phantom of Soul Edge, and then thunder struck as it swung down. Dust, brick and glass gave way to the jagged blade, scattering upon the chapel floor.

The dust cleared, leaving a blasted hole through the brick and the walking armor nowhere to be seen. Quick, heavy metallic steps echoed from below, as Zasalamel stared out southwest over the trees of Black Forest. Just beyond the edge of the woods, the rooftops of a village stood. Into the mountains beyond, as Zasalamel knew, the forsaken sanctuary awaited.

The sorcerer knew that these would be the last living moments of that village, filled with souls that this walking, armored creature would not miss. But millennia of past lives, of foundations crumbling, and societies rising and falling, left no more room for pity for a few meager villagers. Death awaited all, and he remembered every edge against his throat, every burning touch of poison, every final moment of starvation, and every skull shattering blow of a hammer.

And yet, there was no peace, no final rest for his soul.

He turned his eyes from the village and stepped toward the entangled blades.

_Death awaited all. But at least their souls can be of use._

Siegfried Schtauffen sat upon a barstool, accepting the pewter pint from the innkeeper in front of him with a nod. For a moment, he simply basked in the clean clothing and warmth of a fireplace. Behind him, patrons chatted and laughed, and he enjoyed the sound.

It was, after all, the first he had heard in years.

“Thank you,” said Siegfried, his otherwise deep voice still shaken.

“Wouldn’t be right,” said the innkeeper, scratching his beard, “leavin’ a man with nothing but his skin out on road. Sword looks a bit big for ya.”

Brushing his unkempt blonde hair aside, he glanced down at the greatsword leaning against counter. In all fairness, “greatsword” was not quite the term for it. It was wider than most swords in the area, and Siegfried once mused that it was made as a joke or to match some absurd legend.

Years of practice, however, practically rendered it a feather in his grip.

“It’s… suitable,” said Siegfried.

The innkeeper shrugged. “I meant nothing by it.”

Siegfried lifted the pint to his lips, the first he had had in years that he had given up counting. And for a blessed moment, he could breathe, even if it was the stagnant aroma of beer stains, fires and every steely guard to visit this inn.

But deep in the back of his mind, he could not be too careful, for he had thought it was over before. The burning eye of Soul Edge glared back from the abyss of his mind, its final glimpse, up the length of Soul Calbur as the holy blade pierced its accursed iris. He recalled a flash of light, some groaning of some kind, and, for the first time in years, cold air. Somehow, he found his old sword, and, without a patch of cloth upon him, ran out. Siegfried knew there was a fight, but memories of wielding Soul Edge were in fragments.

_A fight? One fight? Try a million._

Though “fight” would imply the victims had a chance. Thousands of faces cried out their final gasp, their last screams, under the accursed sword, as blood drenched his armor, his skin, and his very soul. For revenge? For taking something back? All reason blurred and there was only the slaughter.

And yet, there he sat, calm, exhausted, all his muscle strained and his legs sore.

_But what now?_

He heard the door open behind him. At first, he thought nothing of it, but then a cold chill traced his back. Slowly, Siegfried took another sip, keeping it quiet as he listened in. It was an odd silence for someone stepping in from the road, nary a greeting nor a sigh. Steps followed, not toward him but by the fire. Humming to himself, the innkeeper simply moved some bottles about, paying the new guests little mind.

Lifting his muscled frame into a better posture, he feigned groan, stretching out an arm and chancing a glance toward the fireplace. A younger man’s blue eyes locked gaze with him for a second before he turned to the fire. But Siegfried was familiar with the sentiment.

The man recognized him.

Twice, the blade took control of him. Even during that respite in between, he was confronted by many a vengeful soul. And so blood continued to follow him. There would be no trial, no ear willing to listen; just many bladed fangs of the furies at his heels.

Siegfried and Nightmare, bound in an endless slaughter.

“I might turn in early,” said Siegfried putting the empty mug on the counter.

“Of course,” said the innkeeper, giving a nod. “First door on your right.”

Taking up the greatsword, he stood and walked to the stairs, keeping his gaze straight in front of him.

Siegfried sat up in his bed, sweat pouring down his face and body, free from a dream that had escaped his memory. He had heard a shout, and the smell of fire reached him. Turning his head toward the window, he found only black smoke billowing just outside.

_“Everyone out!”_ he heard the innkeeper from outside.

Just as Siegfried leapt to his feet, there was a heavy knock on the door making it shake in its hinges. Grabbing the greatsword by the hilt, he pulled it from its scabbard as the metallic crack pierced his ears, the door slammed against the wall.

The blue eyed man stood in the doorway, sword in hand, brows bent over his glare.

Siegfried clenched his teeth, as he felt a pang in his chest.

“I know what you want,” said Siegfried, knowing his words fell on deaf ears. “But, please—”

_“Plead to my brother,”_ said the man, lifting his sword, the flames behind him dancing upon the length of his blade.

This man was far from the best trained man Siegfried had ever fought, with his sword forward and his clumsy footed charge across the room. With the edge of his greatsword, he shoved the man’s blade aside before sending his own forehead into his jaw. The man’s sword clattered upon the ground as he stumbled back, the fires roaring ever closer behind him.

With a curse, Siegfried dropped his own blade.

“We can climb out of the window,” he said. “We don’t need to do this—”

Returning to his feet, the man drew a knife from his belt as smoke billowing from the floor underneath him.

“ _I have all I need right here!”_

Siegfried threw his hands forward, catching both wrists as the man shoved his back to the wall. Slowly, the man’s fire lit knife inched toward the scar down his right scalp and cheek. Siegfried threw the man’s arms into the adjacent wall, forcing the knife out of his hands. Bracing his feet, he shoved the man away from him.

The man’s landed with his knee on the floor. Then a great snap was jabbed like a knife to their ears. The floor before Siegfried gave way, as the man fell through, into the opening pit of smoke. Siegfried could see no more of him; there was only the echo of screams and cries of agony from below.

Once more, Siegfried took up his greatsword and swung it at the window, shattering it into shards. Still, there was naught but smoke just outside the frame, but with a final clean breath, he leapt out, leaving the inferno behind. Closing his eyes, he felt a plank of wood give way under his shoulder, breaking his fall for but a moment before falling into dirt below.

With blind desperation, he scrambled to his feet and ran until the cool air of night found his face. Certain the fire was behind him, he stopped himself, turning his gaze to inn, still feeling a faint heat from fire that nearly enveloped him. As he took a breath, all he could do is watch. A snap of wood echoed into the air as the inn’s roof caved in and posts buckled.

Another soul was lost to the fire, another blade out for his throat, another smoldering corpse. His grip tightened about the hilt of his sword as he clenched his jaw. For the first time in his life, he had tried to save someone out for his head, for once in his life tried to talk things out.

_Like that woman years before…_

But death would find its prize nonetheless.

Siegfried heard a cough, just as he turned toward innkeeper, stumbling away on a limp leg. As the man neared, he brushed the soot from his face and hacked up the last bit of the billowing smoke from his lungs. Siegfried reached for the innkeeper.

“I’m alright!” the innkeeper said, waving his hand and coughing some more. “Someone got into my liquor stores.”

“I’m…” said Siegfried. “I’m sorry.”

The innkeeper let out a bitter laugh. “Well, _you_ didn’t start it!”

Siegfried padded the man’s back as he let out one last cough.

“I think everyone made it out,” he said. “You see anyone?”

The mercenary opened his mouth, but then silently nodded.

The innkeeper gritted his teeth. “What happened?”

“I… couldn’t save him,” said Siegfried, the pang in his heart more severe.

“Aye…” said the innkeeper, as he straightened his posture. “Well, the cold won’t be merciful for long. We’d best get moving. I know another one, belongs to a friend, up the road.”

But Siegfried shook his head, before turning his head to a nearby forest line.

“I will camp for the night,” he said, before stepping away.

And Siegfried did not recall what the man said. Hand upon the hilt of his sword, he kept his eyes on the shadow of the forest.

_Animals seldom seek vengeance._

Kilik opened his eyes, rising to his feet from the rock he sat upon with the grace of a bird. Dusk had fallen upon the rolling plains of this land, far west from his home. With a light kick, his red staff flew up in the air before he caught it in his hand. Trying to concentrate more, he noticed a gleam from his sapphire crystal hanging from his necklace. He felt it in his hand, warm to the touch.

He recognized the Black Forest from years back, stretched out before him from the hill he stood on under the morning sun, and, within, his fight with the Azure Knight and his minions took place. On the one hand, he was not surprised to find his senses bringing him back to the castle of Ostrheinsburg. On the other hand, he wondered why the presence of Soul Edge would return to the same place once more. Somewhere within the red staff in has hand, it burned.

“Ostrheinsburg again?” asked Maxi, adjusting his vest as his nunchuku swayed from his belt.

“It’s moving,” said Kilik, spotting an opening in the forest.

_A road, maybe?_

“The presence is stronger ahead,” Kilik went on, gripping the staff.

“Well, why are we waiting?” said Xianghua, restrapping an armbrace, matching her light blue traveling clothes. She looked up, casting her short brunette hair aside, and tried to follow Kilik’s gaze. Then her brown eyes widened.

“Is… is it going for that village?” she said, her voice uneasy.

Kilik clenched his jaw.

“Let’s get the horses moving, then.”

The three could already hear screams by the time they had arrived. For a better part of their haste, Kilik’s view was obstructed by the thicker forest, even though his senses kept him on point. They sped by tree after tree, trampling any branch or leave under their hooves.

When Kilik reached the end of the forest, the fires of the town burned in the dawn. Just as they reached the outer limits, the support of a guard tower buckled, sending tis burning lumber crashing into the ground into smoldering splinters.

In the midst of this chaos, Kilik only caught sight of three villagers stumbling from city gate. Dismounting from his horse, Kilik, with Maxi and Xianghua in tow, ran to meet them. The monk could hear the chains of the nunchuku and the song of Xianghua’s blade as they sprinted.

The first of the villagers, a young woman, stumbled upon her knees as she caught sight of the monk, her eyes widened and arm covering her face.

“We’re here to help,” said Kilik.

“Azure…” said the woman, pointing back to the village. “Azure knight!”

Just inside the burning gate of the city, four sets of violet-red eyes peered back, as shadowy forms began to emerge. Under the firelight, lengths of steel glowed in their hands.

“Get to safety!” Kilik shouted, stepping aside and letting the villagers pass by. “Find the guard!”

That dark forms sprinted toward them, their swords raised and their eyes like small bright red stars. As they drew near, they looked as unarmored villagers under any other circumstances. But the four figures glared back, bloodlust taking hold of them as though by a puppeteer

_Corrupted by the evil seed…_

This was far from the first time Kilik or his companions had encountered such a threat. And, with heavy heart, he knew there was nothing he could do for them. Nothing, except to ensure they do not enthrall more into their horde.

Like a small cyclone, Kilik spun his staff in the air, before the end came across the man’s face with a sickening crack. Though blood spilled from its lip, the man stood there turning his head back to Kilik, opening its jaw in a growl.

But the monk knew that the single blow did little more than earn him a few seconds. And a few seconds were all he needed. Setting the end of the rod into the ground, Kilik pole-vaulted himself into the air and thrusted his foot into possessed his man’s chest, sending it to the ground.

As the blade flew from the villager’s hand, Kilik brought down the rod once more, glowing a faint blue as the golden end descended like a comet, just beside the man’s nose. Another crack erupted from within the possessed man’s neck. From underneath his foot, Kilik felt no more struggle as the man’s jaw slackened and his eyes faded.

A head rolled by Kilik’s foot, just as he lifted his rod once more and turned to Xianghua. Another body of a possessed man stood but a second before its knees buckled and collapsed in a heap, blood pouring from its severed, headless neck,

Just in front of the corpse, Xianghua lifted her bloodied blade. Gritting her teeth, as she looked past Kilik.

“Maxi!”

“I’m fine!”

Kilik turned his gaze to another of the corrupted, flailing its arms. Maxi stood behind it, tightening the chains of the nunchuku around its throat. The former seafarer violently turned his body, snapping its neck. As the body hit the ground, Maxi’s nunchuku found its way under his arm once more, as he gazed across the field.

Kilik took one more glance at his own fallen opponent, all life, all anger faded. Without even realizing it, he lifted his left hand, touching a small V shaped scar upon his cheek. Another lost one, another…

“We need to go in there,” said Xianghua, stepping toward the burning town. She turned her gaze to Kilik.

“Right,” said Kilik, shaking his head. And into the burning streets they ran, hoping against all hope there were still lives to be saved.


	2. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siegfried's past continues to haunt him, as Kilik and company investigate the attack on the town.

_You have no right to live…_

Siegfried stood amongst the trees, in the dead of night where nothing by shadows could be seen beyond the wood. As his body shifted, he could hear the clinks of his armor. Sword in hand, he looked about, trying to find the source of that voice.

Then he turned. Bodies lay strewn about, their blood drowning the dirt below, nearly as unrecognizable as the carrion of beasts. He turned around once more, and gore seemed to fill every dark pocket between trees, until he realized that every inch around him stunk of blood. His heart raced, as he took in every last twisted face, every last final breath—

One more turn, and a tall figure greeted him. As the figure stepped closer to Siegfried, the meager light made its brown hair and beard more apparent. The man’s mouth widened into a manic smile, as he lifted his chin, revealing a bloodied gash across his neck.

_Father!?_

“My boy,” said the figure, his grin fading as he gritted his teeth. “Back at it again, I see?”

“No,” said Siegfried, stepping back. “No, not anymore—”

“You thought that before,” said Frederick. “But you are just delaying the inevitable. Do you truly have a right to live? Until your duty is done?”

“Duty?” Siegfried growled. “What duty? All I have touched turned to ash!”

“Avenge me,” said Frederick.

“Oh, don’t you toy with me with that fantasy!” shouted Siegfried. “It was not some blade, it was not some curse! It was…”

Siegfried’s gaze fell upon his opened, bloody hand.

“It was mine alone…” 

“Indeed,” said Frederick with a sneer.

Siegfried felt his hand spasm, moving on its own, as though a puppeteer’s fingers worked from within. It grew, his fingers merging, as his thumb grew into claws. The hand twisted and morphed, until that twice accursed trio of talons opened.

“Avenge me.”

The clawed hand reached for his own throat—

Siegfried awoke with a start, back shifting into the tree he was leaning against. With his heart racing, he wiped the sweat from his brow and cleared his throat from a phantom grip. Lifting back his hood, he looked up with bleary eyes at the starry night.

Then he looked between the trees and through paths of undisturbed leaves. Not a body in sight. Sitting there in the dead of night, he let out a sigh of relief.

_Perhaps, it is truly over?_

He then heard heavy steps upon the leaves. Siegfried grabbed the hilt of his greatsword and forced himself to his feet, his temperament of the fighting man returning to his arms. Under his bent brow, he glared, searching the trees, until a tumbling shape stepped out.

The woman fell forward, a thick branch catching the hem of her dress. Siegfried sprinted to her, gripping the sword tight. He kneeled down by her, keeping his eyes between the trees.

“What happened?” said Siegfried, his hand closed nearly completely around her delicate arm.

The woman looked up, eyes reddened and mouth silent but for heavy breaths. She cleared her throat, as she pointed back the way she came.

“Our village,” she said. “It was attacked. The… the Azure Knight…”

_What?_

And then snap of a broken branch broke the otherwise quiet night in twain. A familiar, heavy breathing reached Siegfried’s ears as he helped the woman to her feet. Then, a red-violet glow appeared for but a second before escaping into the dark. Then Siegfried looked into the woman’s brown eyes.

“Get to the road, that way,” said Siegfried, nudging his head to the east. “Follow the road north to an inn. Go!”

Without another word, she ran for it. Siegfried lifted his blade. He swore it was near, bracing his back against a tree and listening. The breathing grew closer, followed by a shift in the leaves.

Siegfried ducked as an axe flew over his head and embedded itself in the treetrunk behind him. He spun around, lifting the sword over his head and catching a glimpse of the attacker’s red-violet eyes. Snarling, it struggled to get the axe’s head out of the bark. Tightening his grip, Siegfried swung the sword down like a guillotine. Through its collarbone the blade cut, spilling blood upon the forest ground.

As the possessed man breathed its last, Siegfried heard more hurried footsteps shuffle through the leafy ground. The mercenary lifted his foot and kicked the attacker, sending its body off of his own blade into a heap. As he lifted the bloodied sword once more, his gaze swept across the forest.

Red eyes glowed between seemingly every pair of trees. As they drew closer, he noted the armor in some of them, the dress upon another, farmer’s clothes…

All of them carrying the same madness Siegfried himself had commanded, trapped in that devilish armor and ordered by that accursed sword. He always wondered what went on in their minds, these Malfested. Was it empty promises? Or was it simple bloodlust? Perhaps, Siegfried was just another one?

His gazed darted from one pair of glowing eyes to another, his hands tight around the hilt as he waited for who would approach next.

A moonlit spear flew across his gaze, before a sickening crack awoke the night. One of the Malfested fell, weighted by its own chainmail, its breathing turned shallow with the spear head buried in his throat.

 _“There they are!”_ shouted a woman’s voice.

_Where have I…?_

Fast heavy steps approached, just as one of the armored Malfested ran at him, holding its spear low. Once it closed in, Siegfried grabbed the haft of the spear before kicking out, his foot making its knee bend with a crack. After casting the spear aside, he shifted his body, using the weight of the sword for momentum as its blade sheared its head clean off. As the glowing eyes of the tumbling head began to fade, the rest of the body crumpled onto the ground.

Thinking quickly, Siegfried yanked the axe from tree trunk, and threw it. The blade of the axe sank into the face of another, its glowing eyes split from each other before the body fell. And it was then that another of the invaders fell before his feet, its skull crushed with one remaining eye fading eye. Steel met steel around him, as more human shouts and curses joined the orchestra of death.

An animal like growl caught his attention. Siegfried lifted his blade, stopping the haft of a hammer just inches before the steel head reached his eye. He fell back, sparks across his vision as his head hit the tree behind him. With a hand on the hilt and one of the back edge of the sword, he pushed back, glared back into the glowing eyes of his enemy over its the drooling, bearded maw.

The Malfested shouted in agony as a shield hit its side like a battering ram, shoving it off its feet and sending the hammer into the mud. The shieldbearer did not waste another second before swinging the sword across its neck. With a final, hollow gasp, the possessed man’s eyes faded and its body went limp.

“Anyone else!?” shouted the same woman’s voice as before. And it was only then, as she stood to once more, that Siegfried caught sight of her red draping down her back.

_Wait…_

Lifting his broadsword from the body of another malfested, an armored man looked back at the woman. He caught his breath, wiping white headband under his brown hair.

“I think that’s the lot of them,” he said, another long forgotten voice.

And that was when a cold weight drop in the pit of Siegfried’s stomach. Of all the voices, of all the souls he would come across…

The woman approached, setting her shield against a tree. With a swift motion, she lifted her helmet from her head and shook the rest of her red hair free. After a few breaths, she turned her head to Siegfried.

“Alright, stranger?” she said.

Siegfried said nothing. Words came in went in his mind, things he wanted to say, things he could not, things… he did not know were safe. At every breath, words seem to dry up in his throat long before they could escape his lips. All he did was stand there, staring, blearing eyed and exhausted.

She cocked her head before stepping forward, looking up at him, as though trying to see through the mess of Siegfried’s hair about his face. The flick of a match went and, in the hand of one of the nearby fighters, a torch lit up.

As firelight dance about the woman’s gaunt face, the woman’s brown eyes widened.

“Wha…?” she uttered, leaving her mouth hanging open. From her lips escaped half words as she stepped back.

“Something wrong?” asked the brown haired soldier as he approached. At the first good glance, he, too planted his feet and stared.

“Salia…” said Siegfried finally, standing tall, but his arms still hanging from his shoulders. He turned his gaze to the other. “Landau.”

One by one, the other soldiers approached, a confused gaze from newer faces, shocked widened eyes from old. Longtime friends, those who joined him on the mad venture of becoming mercenaries, on fighting for coin all while his father joined crusades.

_Schwarzwind._

“What…” said Salia once more. “What happened to you? After those soldiers, you…”

“I…” said Siegfried before letting his body relax. “I do not even know where to start.”

_Those soldiers… Father’s head…_

Salia glared.

“Well, you better start somewhere!” she shouted.

Landau reached for her shoulder. “Hey, Salia—”

“No, _back off!_ ” Salia shoved him away, nearly making him drop the torch. All the while, she kept her glaring eyes on Siegfried.

“You disappear one night,” she went on. “And since then… Walking lizards, possessed men and women, the Azure Knight, and you were nowhere to be found! You just walked away! We hardly had coin, defending small villages who could barely scrape up a few coppers!”

“I am sorry,” said Siegfried. “Listen…”

“You’re bloody sorry—”

“Um, if I may?”

Salia turned her glare to Landau, as he cleared his throat.

“I’m just saying,” said Landau. “First, good to see you Siegfried.”

Siegfried nodded. “Thanks, Lan.”

“Secondly,” Landau went on. “We haven’t seen these Malfested here before.”

Siegfried could see Salia clenching her jaw as she let herself breathe.

“No, you’re right,” she said, turning back to Siegfried. “Did you see where she came from?”

“From the south,” said Siegfried, pointing back through the forest. “I don’t know what village she was talking about.”

“Oh, the woman?” said Landau. “Yeah, went running out toward the road when she ran into _us_.”

Salia turned her gaze upon the malfested soldier’s body sprawled out on the ground, its head lost nowhere to be found. Under the torch fire, she knelt down beside it, grabbing the tabard and holding up the worn red fabric.

“Spiegelberg,” she said. Salia tore her gaze from the corpse and looked to a smaller man. The man shrugged back a shoulder, adjusting his green cloak.

“Alaric,” Salia went on. “Get to Spiegelberg. Stay in the shadows.”

“On it, Sal,” the lad said, voice deeper than Siegfried expected.

In a blink, the man was gone, only the faint rustle of a leaf giving him away.

“Everyone else,” she called out, her tone sharp, “on me.”

“I’m coming, too.”

Siegfried gazed back at the mercenaries staring upon him. Salia let out a breath before she shook her head.

“The woman spoke of the Azure Knight returning,” said Siegfried. “I need to find out why.”

Siegfried heard Salia pop the knuckles in her hand as rest of the mercenaries muttered amongst themselves.

“Very well,” she said. “We could use the extra sword.”

Siegfried blinked.

“Extra sword?”

“You don’t like it? Leave,” she said, her gaze stern. “Be reliable or be on your way.”

Without another word, she stepped away toward the village, waving the rest of Schwarzwind to follow. One by one, they peel their gaze from Siegfried, collecting their weapons and following, familiar faces and hardly a greeting.

Cursing under his breath, he hefted the flat side of his sword over his shoulder. This should have been a moment of joy, but instead all was hollow and cold. But then the thought of Azure Knight, his Nightmare walking once more, steeled his hand, and the only way was ahead of him. With a heavy heart, he followed his old friends on.

_It is the least I can do._

The dusk sun cast its waning light from over the low hills of Italy to the west and upon the Gulf of Trieste. From her small boat, Sophitia Alexandra guided her sail, riding the modest waves further north. Closer and closer came the familiar isles ahead, just obscuring the last lagoon to the mainland. Keeping the cloak between her and the incoming sea breeze, she kept the sail in position with one well trained hand.

Behind her she could just hear rudder straining against the currents. She looked behind herself. Taki, keeping her own cloak tight, nodded back. As the sea gave them a hint of calm, Sophitia knelt down, feeling steel plates through the loose constraints of her bag.

“No need to fret,” said Taki, turning the rudder once more. “It’s not going anywhere.”

“Fret, I will,” said Sophitia with a chuckle. “Hephaestus would not bless me again if I lost these.”

“Do you not have a god of the sea?”

Sophitia sighed. “That is beside the point.”

Taki gave a small laugh.

“A ghostly pirate could not take us. An empty sea won’t.”

With the sea level, Sophitia sat down, keeping her balance on the ever teetering boat. Absentmindedly, she felt her side, though she knew well that the better part of the pain had long since passed. Even after the past few years, she still expected a sharp sting from even the most menial of actions.

“I’m alright,” said Sophitia, feeling Taki’s gaze.

Taki nodded, pushing back her hood and letting her her dark brown hair out.

“Alright enough to carry two children,” she said. “That could not have been easy.”

“I still worry about them,” said Sophitia, feeling a chill on top of the seabreeze. “They came out kicking and crying and…” She curled her lips into a grin, pushing aside her blond hair. But then her smile dissipated quickly. “I don’t know how I survived or how they were born unscathed. _If_ they are unscathed.”

Taki’s face remained still.

“I have dealt with my share of demons,” the ninja went on, before turning her head toward the northern isles. “Even my own clan turned toward the end. But this… Soul Edge… Nothing like anything in our islands.”

“I do not know what to make of the news that reached Athens,” said Sophitia. “I went back to the northwest because it had apparently returned, years after we defeated it. But then I heard that that the man wielding it had fallen…”

“… And then it came back, again…?” said Taki.

Sophitia gaze an exasperated sigh.

“Nothing has been making sense since Cervantes,” she said. “And I can’t just sit any longer.”

She felt Taki’s hand on her shoulder with a strong grip.

“One thing at a time,” said Taki.

“Right,” said Sophitia standing up once more. “We need to find out what Fygul Cestemus is hiding.”

“That cult to Ares?” asked Taki.

Sophitia nodded. “One of Hephaestus’ prophets warned us.”

Taki quirked a brow. “Any directions beyond that?

“The gods…” said Sophitia, trying to discern the best way of putting it, “… do not care to give the whole picture at once.”

The demon hunter looked at Sophitia blankly.

“… Helpful.”

Sophitia gave a grin. “Well, you can’t know the whole story from the first page.”

Taki shrugged. “You can with a map.”

The Athenian sighed. “Just trust me, alright? He led me to Cervantes, after all.”

“Oh, of course,” said Taki, tying her hair into a ponytail. “Just remember to raise your shield this time.”

The ashy remains of the village still reeked of smoke and blood, as Kilik drew a bottle from his belt. As he knelt down, he kept his eyes on the soot covered child, shirt bloodied and breathing weak. He listened to the mother weeping behind him, while the father remained silent.

But this was not the first boy he had healed, and he knew it was fairly simple now that gash upon his shoulder was covered. With a gentle hand, he lifted the boy’s head just an inch, while pressing the glass bottle to his lips. Slowly, he lifted the bottom of the bottle, watching its contents empty, before laying his head down once more.

Like a hawk, Kilik watched the boy, putting the bottle aside. For a long, terrible moment the boy was still. Then, finally, the first relaxed breath expanded the boy’s chest, the first of many snores escaping his lips. Letting out his own breath, Kilik stood before turning to the mother, still held tight in her husband’s arms.

“He will need rest and should not be disturbed more than necessary,” said the monk. “But he will recover.”

With hardly a word, they both ran to their child, releasing the last of their tears in joy. Giving them a small grin, Kilik knew how hard it was to receive gratitude in this Empire, especially for a foreigner. But that mattered little to him. Another soul would live on to see the next dawn. After seeing so many robbed of their free will, life or both, even the smallest deed meant more than any promise of pay or gold.

Yet, his heart felt heavy as he stepped away and stared at the rest of the blackened village. Guards had arrived, yet well after the last of the Malfested had fallen. And considering many of the guard made up the number of the Malfested, there was little they could do. The bodies had been collected, wrapped up and placed upon the ground in rows. They would be all be set aflame, common for a plague perhaps.

_Though, I do not recall fire specifically banishing the evil seed…_

“Everything alright?” said Maxi, as he padded his back.

“I…” said Kilik. “I… do not feel right about saying yes.”

Maxi paused, gazing at the smoldering remains, before nodding.

“Yeah, not a fair question,” said the former sailor. “Any sign of the knight?”

“No one has said anything,” said Kilik. “Everyone is too shocked for that.”

“There’s gotta be footprints somewhere,” said Maxi. “You don’t just… wear armor and disappear…”

“Kilik!” shouted Xianghua, as she ran toward them. “Someone’s here!”

Kilik heard commotion behind him, toward the gate they first came through. When he turned, he spotted a line of mercenaries standing at the gate. A redhaired woman stood at the center, her arms pointing about the town as she spoke with the head of the guard. The monk nudged Maxi as he walked toward them.

For a moment, the woman stopped speaking to readjust one of her shoulder plates. As they drew closer, Kilik looked at the rest of the mercenaries. A brown haired man wiped sweat from his headband, another man drew his great hammer…

When they arrived at the gate, the red haired blinked a couple of times, as though spotting Kilik slapped her across the face. And for the first time, Kilik realized how much his red, loose robe like clothing stood out.

“Captain?” said the woman. “Who are…?”

“Oh, right,” said the captain, smiling through his beard. “This is Kilik. He had been to these parts before.”

“Kilik?” said the woman, and then her eyes turned. “Then that would make you Xianghua…”

The noblewoman nodded.

“… And Maxi.”

“Pleasure!”

You were the ones,” the woman went on, “who took down the Azure Knight?”

Maxi scratched the back of his head. “Well, at least we thought did.”

“We defeated it and…” And then Kilik stopped himself. He was certain the Soul Edge was destroyed at the time. But search his own memory as thoroughly as he could, he did not recall what happened to the man in the armor. What did he even look like? Even the malfested retain much of their initial appearances…

But then the red haired woman raised a hand and nodded. “I’m not here to tear you down. This Soul Edge always seems to have another trick up its sleeve. Name’s Salia.”

“Thank you,” said Kilik with a smile. Comradery was rare in these parts, but it was always welcome.

Salia nodded before turning to her men. “Alright! Search the area!”

Kilik turned to the captain, brow raised.

The captain nodded.

“I’m short on men,” he said. “Besides, this is Schwarzwind. They know what they’re doing after the malfested attacks.”

_Schwarzwind._

Kilik had heard of the name, but the Malfested horde spread far in the area and had never seen them in person. Yet, he did recall… less valiant things about them. ‘A bunch of crooks’ he heard one say.

As the mercenary group spread apart, he felt an arm bump into him.

“Sorry—”

Kilik gazed into the tall man’s blue eyes beneath his tossed blonde hair. The mercenary quirked a brow, shifting the long scar down his right brow and into his cheek. And for a moment he just stared at the monk, his mouth half opened as though unable to utter what he had to say.

“Hey Siegfried!” shouted the brown haired mercenary, pointing to one of the wrecked sheds. “Give me a hand!”

“Yes, of course,” said the blue eyed mercenary shaking his head, before turning back to Kilik. “Sorry, again.”

As Kilik watched the mercenary walk off, noticing that, save for the greatsword in his hand and hefted over his shoulder, he was not remotely armored. The voice echoed in his head once or twice more. He began to toy with the guess that he had met him before, but something felt off.

“Kilik?”

The monk turned to Xianghua’s brown eyes, wide with worry. He felt her hand, holding it tight in his own, as her other hand caressed his face.

“I’m alright,” said Kilik. “I just… I wonder how many more sights of this we need to see.”

“I know,” said Xianghua.

“Everytime I see this,” said Kilik. “The nightmares begin anew. The monastery, your sister…”

Kilik could see the pain in her eyes, yet Xianghua forced herself a simple smile.

“That’s why we’re here,” she said. “Let’s see what we can find.”

Siegfried wandered off toward the southern end of the village, placing his greatsword in a sheath strapped to his back that one of the mercenaries gave him. The smell of the burning village returned to him in a clearer, sober manner. His memories as this Nightmare were blurred at best, like a drunken rage that could shift castles into the sea. The last few years went at such a terrible speed that he could not take in what was still burning in the wake.

And then that man, Kilik, crossed his path. Of all the things he had seen through that blur, he stood out, rod in his hands, spinning and tumbling, almost like a dancer, both him and this Xianghua. He recalled their cuts with the blade, the fierce, battering ram like strike of the monk.

For that was when Siegfried wild boar-like rampage finally stopped. Suddenly, there was not the certainty of victory, that incoming of another soul to be harvest. Like Beowulf, they came into his lair and, for the first time, this Nightmare had felt fear, felt itself pushed to the brink until it was finally worn down.

A bitter huff of a laugh escaped Siegfried’s lips, as he leaned against the stone corner remains of a house. He was very near ready to thank this monk for shifting the tide in his slaughter, for nearly killing him and for, even for a short time, bringing the invasions to an end. A preposterous notion, and he knew it. Having to confess like that…

_But should I?_

As a boy, a church would absolve his sins, or so the priests said. Every slight against his parents, every stolen purse and everything else would be washed away. He gazed back at the wrapped bodies, and those poor villagers with spades, barely keeping upright enough to pay their fallen friends the last respects. Siegfried wondered what kind of act from on high would cleanse this travesty.

“Hey, Siegfried,” said Salia, as she walked toward him.

Siegfried remained silent, but for a simple nod.

“Look,” she said, taking a sigh. “I was a little out of line.”

Once more, Siegfried nodded.

“I…” he said, “… had evidently missed quite a bit.”

“Not everything,” said Salia, quirking a brow. “That scar wasn’t there.”

Siegfried reached up and felt the thick line of flesh down his cheek. “Listen.”

While she looked at him willing to listen, words failed him. Where was he to even start? Yes, the sword was responsible, but what of his actions before? What of the barking lunacy alone leading him to kill and betray? How would he explain such a lapse in his own faculties, abandoning every ounce of honor he had?

Salia quirked a brow. “… Well?”

“Hey!”

Following Sallia’s gaze, he spotted Alaric, knelt down with a hand upon the ground. Siegfried stepped over to him and following the lad’s hand across a bit of the grass. Siegfried admitted to himself he would have missed what Alaric was looking at, but there was no mistaking the pointed toed boot print pressing down on the grass like a wax stamp.

Siegfried never considered himself even a student of magic or the spirit. But his heart throbbed to new speeds, as his gaze drifted to his left, seeing the faint line of cut earth in the grass accompanying the feet. Then and there, in that village, the impossible stared him into his scarred eye.

“This has to be it,” said Siegfried.

Salia raised a brow.

“I’m sorry?” she said.

“Well, um…” said Siegfried, realizing he stepped too far.

But there, he decided that, perhaps, secrets were not going to save anyone.

“I’ve had some run-ins with this creature,” said Siegfried.

“But…” said Salia. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

Siegfried turned to Salia, eyes stern.

“Listen to me,” he said. “Much had happened in the past few years. Things that will haunt me until my dying breath.”

“It’s alright, Siegfried,” said Salia, placing her hand upon his shoulder. “We _all_ had.”

Siegfried bared his teeth, shaking off her arm. “No… I do not mean defending a village or…”

He let out a sigh as Salia blinked.

“I… happen to know a few things about this Knight,” Siegfried went on. “Now let’s go after him so I can leave you in peace.”

Salia continued to stare into his eyes, before lowering her hand. Finally, she looked back down at the boot print, before she ventured her gaze further down the field.

“Very well,” she said. “You lead the way. Alaric?”

“Of course!” said Alaric.

Once more, Siegfried blinked and there was little to see of the man.

_How does he do that?_

“Thank you,” said Siegfried.

But Salia shook her head. “We’re all trying to find him. Whatever it takes.”

Sophitia’s horse continued to trot down the road, the back of the brown beast carrying her with little more notice than a feather with every click of a hoof. Around her waist, Taki held on as the dawn shone onto the great snow covered Alps ahead. Sophitia searched the side of the mountains searching for a quick way up the side. Her first glance did not fill her with confidence.

“We are sure?” asked Taki.

“The men at the dock said something was up there,” said Sophitia.

“I don’t suppose,” Taki said again, “Hephaestus…?”

Sophitia sighed.

“Nevermind,” said Taki. “Though, that… thing that came out of the cult last time…”

“I… heard of an axeman,” said Sophitia. “A tall one…”

Taki laughed. “That’s… well, none of those points are false.”

Sophita turned her head slightly, raising her brow.

“After bringing you back to Athens,” said Taki, “I came back to this area.”

“Why?”

“I had little reason not to,” said Taki. “A cursed sword returns, and then rumors shift into panic as malfested and a new wielder is spoken of. I knew my work was not done. While I was here, searching for anything else I could find about the sword, news of a beast of a man with an axe. Survivors had spoken of how it… looked like something built rather than human.”

Sophitia cursed under her breath. “It would not be the first time the Fygul Cestemus played with necromancy and men’s souls.”

Her knuckles cracked as she gripped the reins tighter.

“Ares had his creations leaving dead after dead and I could not even lift a sword again yet!”

“Did you not return here?”

“Briefly,” said Sophitia, loosening her grip. “I thought I was tracking down the Azure Knight, but the gods had another task for me.”

Taki fell silent.

“Everything made sense, the great sword, suit of armor…” Sophitia went on. “But… there was nothing but fear in the man’s heart when I found him. He attacked me, but not with any resolve. Fear had completely blinded him and all he could do was swing wildly. Took some effort to calm him down.”

Sophitia heard a small huff escape Taki’s lips.

“You had more patience than I,” said the ninja. “Even through my own arts, there is only one cure for a rabid beast.”

“No…” said Sophitia, clenching her teeth.

“I commend your bravery, of course,” said Taki, her tone lighter.

“That is beside the point,” Sophitia snapped. “My training is about more than slaying. Wicked men must fall, but only when I can see the divide between the wicked and the lost.”

“Lost?”

Sophitia breathed deeply. “As a blind sheep. I can’t just kill a man who barely knows where he is.”

A rooster crowed in the distance as the horse went on, its hooves still clicking against the rock and dirt beneath them. Behind the two, their sack lay, plates clinking against each other every time the horse adjusted its shoulders.

“Are the malfested lost?” asked Taki.

“No…” said Sophitia, her tone melancholy. “Just… gone.”


	3. Past Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schwarzwind lead the climb into the Alps in pursuit of Nightmare.

Zasalamel held his robes close as he stepped across the stone balcony, listening to the waterways, still active even after all these years, flowing down the side of the Alps and into the stretch of Rome’s peninsula. Morning had come, and the dawn awoke this forgotten sanctuary with a great orchid gleam under the still red sun.

One turn, and a column of Athens greeted his gaze. Another, and a simple Doric pattern of a pillar came across his path. Great Christian edifices dotted just under the roof’s lip above him, while the remains of Zeus, lightning in hand (or was it Zeus Pater now?), gazed down the temple’s waterfalls to the south. And at the sorcerer’s feet, within the stone, a great compass was painted, a rather modern mark of cartography from what he had seen, pointing north to a plain altar.

Such was the nature of this strange place. Surely, this place had been abandoned, and yet it seemed to have an offering from the many tribes, many nations and many royalties that graced, Greece, Rome, and all their eager, legend hungry descendants. Long lost deities, gone from fanaticism yet preserved hands by unseen hands and passed on by unsung, unwritten voices.

This sanctuary, older than time, yet spoke of ages, was one of the few mysteries Zasalamel had left in this world. He had no delusions that he was just one more man born generations upon generations after man first made fire. Yet, from all of his research, he could not help but grin, for there was one more anomaly, whose foundation hid from one of the many eyes his lives would search the world with.

Bittersweet, really, for he would die knowing there would still be answers to be found, perhaps, by someone else.

Timeless, cared for, and yet untouched. And so he would be drawn here since the lifetime he had found it. In the madness of redrawn maps, burned histories, and tomes long lost, this was the only place he would dare call home.

Zasalamel guided his gaze to the east, his golden eye shining in the dawn, and there a black speck climbed up the mountain side. That shambling shard of Soul Edge, that walking suit of armor, he knew he had only set it loose with only a vague understanding. But then the sorcerer saw where he was going, and smiled once more.

_Yes… That old cult should have something to rejuvenate him. At the very least, more souls…_

He turned back to the altar, the cursed blade and holy sword still entangled upon it. Whether this knight would slay him in the end or a plague across Europe, it would not matter to him. He had walked too many ages, seen too many wars fought to care for the stupidity of mankind any longer.

_Let my soul simply fall with the rest of these fools…_

“I can’t order you to do so,” said the captain of the guard, stepping toward the base of the mountain pass. “Nor would I blame you if you simply let it go.”

Kilik ceased his steps, his companions and the mercenaries quickly following suit. Without moving a hand, he stretched his senses to the mountains, these “Alps”. Immediately, he felt a cold chill down the center of his spine.

_Not Soul Edge, precisely, but…_

“Something wrong, captain?” asked Salia.

The captain of the guard turned pale. “Local superstition, but…”

“It’s fine!” said Xianghua with a laugh. “Local superstition tends to be how we find things.”

After a quick side glance at Xianghua, the captain cleared his throat, the rest of the mercenary band staring at him eagerly.

“I hear the locals speak of slit eyes in the dark,” said the captain, through his stammer. “Hisses unlike any snake they had ever heard or… And there’s this green haze that hangs over this mountain from time to time. People had gone missing and…”

“Well,” said Maxi. “Then I would say it was about damn time someone did something about it!”

The captain looked at him uncertainly, but kept his remark to himself. “I hold you under no oath to, but… I admire the sentiment.”

He stepped out of the way of the road, waving his men to let them all pass.

“Those footprints seemed to be going there anyhow,” the captain said again. “Best of luck, and God speed.”

The tall mercenary, this Siegfried, stepped forward, keeping his eye on the ground. Kilik waved for his own company to follow, as the rest of the mercenaries fell in behind them. Walking by Siegfried’s side Salia kept her own gaze upon the cliffs above them. Like a forlorn sentinel, the snowcapped top loomed over their heads.

Kilik breathed deeply, knowing the racing of his heart would only grow. But this was a dance his heart knew well. His path was paved with fights, magic, and strange things only fairy tales told of. After the castle of the Azure Knight, a mountain pass would not make him faint.

Yet, he found his own eyes kept turning upon the tall mercenary guiding their way. The way he carried himself told of past armor nowhere upon his plain clothes, how his arms are further spread from his body than they need to be. But the man seemed earnest enough, if a bit quiet, and their leader seemed to know him…

_Perhaps I should not prejudge._

Raphael Sorel awoke, coughing from the taste of blood upon his tongue and his fit threating to tear his ribcage in half. Every escape through his lips let out a white puff in upon that cold floor in the dark. In a panic, he felt the log wall against his back with one hand, and touched the dirt floor with the other, pressing and guiding himself back to his feet.

He did not feel light headed until he stood straight. Bracing himself against the wall, he strained his mind, unsure where he was. His head raced, his hands were nearly numb and his teeth kept rubbing against an open cut in his mouth.

_If only I had a bloody torch…_

And then, the room lit in front of him, colorless, yet clear. From the table and chairs, hearth only smoldering now, he could tell he was just inside someone’s house. But where were the occupants? Who should he thank? Was he captured?

Raphael padded his own body, opening his long coat just enough to feel his bared chest through his torn shirt. Feeling himself more and more, his fingers eventually graced the layer of a scar. He thought it was small, but quickly felt it stretch from nearly his neck, down to the right side of his pelvis.

_Right… I faced the Azure Knight… Did I…?_

Like a burning jagged razor the Soul Edge’s cut felt, his own blood flooding the floor. From that pain his memories began to return. In a last struggle, he had gripped the top of the blade with one hand, the shattered remains of his rapier in his other hand, Raphael’s own gaze staring into the Soul Edge’s accursed eye…

_Did I strike it?_

Raphael should have died and he knew it. Again, he prodded the scar, recalling the blow like a terrible dream.

_Will this damned tooth stop tearing into my mouth…_

He spat out blood, and in his brightened vision, watched the wad land upon cloth. Quickly, he realized it was a shirt, worn by a still form staring, glassy eyed, into the void.

“Sir!” said Raphael, bending over and trying to shake the man awake. But there he stayed, staring out into nothing. It was then that Raphal looked under the man’s beard.

Two puncture wounds stood out on the side of his neck. In a panic, Raphael threw out a hand and turned over the nearby table. Surprised that it had landed softly, he noticed another body now crushed under the table’s frame, a young woman, maid from somewhere. He darted his gaze about, but there was only himself moving in that small room.

His mind returned to Amy, her small frame against her long red hair. His daughter, the child he found, the only one he owed his life, too. Surely, she was far away, not near him. These were people east of his home…

And then his tooth cut the inside of his mouth again—

He reached a finger between his lips, counting his teeth, only to feel a sharp sting at one side. The taste of blood crept into his mouth, again. Raphael’s head felt light once more. He had survived, but as what? A parasite? To stalk the night and feed upon humanity? He was nobility, twice robbed…

_Robbed by parasites…_

The twice noble regained his posture. No, it made sense, didn’t it? But it can’t be. This was beneath him. He would command, not feed!

_Command them like livestock._

Slowly, he heart began to calm. The idea was still revolting, but then he gazed upon the bodies once more. A maid and, perhaps, farmer? They were but servants in their own way. And what was the difference? They have served…

_Command…_

Soul Edge was still out there, certainly. But facing that beast alone was folly. He needed his weapons, he needed an army. His mind finally calmed as he recalled the layout of the Holy Roman Empire. He had to still be near Ostrheinsburg, for sure. He knows nobility, they would send him an audience…

_Of your reputation?_

A groan reverberated from the floor, as the table was pushed aside. Another groan, and the bearded man from before rose to his feet almost in a drunk stupor. Then the man’s glowing red-violet eyes shined. At first, Raphael did not know what to make of the gesture, but soon the man was still, looking at him expectantly.

The woman, this maid, followed suit, standing with eyes aglow and staring at the noble. The wounds upon their necks began to trickle, but still they stood. And somehow, Raphael knew they awaited their next orders. It would be in their nature as mortals; may it continue as husks!

Raphael approached the nearby door, opening it slowly…

… Only to find the palace of Lord Vogel standing high before him. Oh, he recognized that old fool from many years ago, as a boy visiting. Never cared much for those of his blood, men of the western coast, and defenders against the Brits. And Raphael could not help by smile; strange, twisted justice would present itself to the lord of House Sorel.

Raphael lifted his hand, gazing at his pale fingers as a realization approached him. He was malfested, touched by the Soul Edge and all that that implied. Yet, he was certain he had retained his faculties, even if the answer of How seemed to evade every turn of his thoughts. But he also faced the strength of the Azure Knight’s servants, and knew their potential…

With a swift flick of his wrist, he pulled on the door and the hinges groaned until they came loose. As he let go, the door fell upon the field before him with a great thud breaking the silent night in twain. Oh, how the hinges looked, twisted and broken as though with a battering ram, all with his delicate wrists.

Raphael turned to his newly acquired servants, as they still stared back, their minds, their desires long forgotten, long torn from their necks. And they would not be the last. He saw an army, all poised as these two gifted to him. An army, a nation, nobility, sword and spear under his command. There need be no banner, no flag, nor the name of a country. All will know, all will breathe the Soul Edge in his hand. The noble world robbed him of his humanity, and he will make all of Europe and beyond akin to his bloodlust.

_All starting here, through this worm of a lord._

“Come, my lady, my gentleman,” he said, his fanged teeth no longer a bother. “One of my first memories was of this Lord Vogel.”

He turned to the mansion once more, its hollow banner waving high above.

“Let’s make this… final visit,” he said, smiling, “conclusive.”

Siegfried held onto his cloak tightly, as they continued to ascend up the Alps, their feet finally reaching the first touch of snow. The trail remained clear before them, and but the pointed prints still began to become muddled by the prints of others. The second Siegfried realized this, he raised a hand, as the marching behind him quickly came to a halt. More footprints would not have surprised him that much, especially with the warning the captain had given them.

Yet, he did not quite expect something like the clawed foot in front of him. They were a bit more sporadic; a couple here, another to the side, and then back on the trail. And yet, it tugged at his memory, a loose thread he had forgotten somehow…

_Did Nightmare…_

“Wait,” said Xianghua, stepping past him, cloak billowing in the wind. “I might know what that is.”

“Go on,” said Salia.

“The Azure Knight commanded at least one of these,” she said. “We faced it in Ostrheinsburg.”

Salia stepped closer, her eyes fixed upon the fresh print in the snow.

“Some…” she said, he voice as uneasy as her guess, “serpent men, like the captain described?”

“Well, more lizard, but yes,” said Xianghua.

“Was this another malfested?” asked Salia.

Xianghua opened her mouth, only to stop, and shift her gaze toward Kilik.

The monk stepped forward, looking down at the print. With a long sigh, he turned to the rest of the mercenaries.

“Hard to say,” said Kilik. “I have come across many forms of magic, many disciplines. Giving someone scales or transforming a lizard is not among the Soul Edge’s usual victims. And not all of the Azure Knight’s servants were… mindless.”

Salia’s eyes went wide.

“There was this woman, white haired…” said Xianghua. “And…”

“The bastard that took my crew,” said the black haired man, this Maxi. “Wasn’t walking around in a drunken stupor, I can tell you that.”

_Ivy… Astaroth…_

“The woman escaped,” said Kilik, “and…”

“I was wounded,” said Maxi. “He was out cold, and I woke up without my own name to recall. But he enjoyed every second of…”

Kilik raised his brow, but then his friend waved him off.

“If he was still around we would have heard about it,” said Maxi. “He was many things and quiet was not one of them.”

“Let’s keep going,” said Salia, hand shaking and nodding to Siegfried. He nodded back and gestured for the rest to follow, keeping his eyes on the ever growing crowd of prints through the mountain pass.

But the mercenary remained silent. Even though his memories as this Nightmare was in blurry fragments, like looking at a destroyed stained glass window during a hangover, he knew who they were describing. He did not command many who were not infected, but somewhere, even in his own madness, delegation was not beyond his own capacity.

Of course, he had no doubt they had their own ends, their own purposes. Ivy would not tell him everything and Astaroth he made sure to keep busy. The lizardman was barely in control, knowing basic commands and little else, but the thing’s eagerness and inability to sit still was something Nightmare would take advantage of.

But there Siegfried was, listening to the many war stories, of wars his own stupidity had caused. And all he could do was listen; to his failings, the pain he had caused, the lives he had taken, forever walking in this terrible purgatory with no one on high to help ease his soul.

Yet, this was the first time he had be _able_ to listen. Quickly after his defeat at the hands of Xianghua and Kilik, vengeful fury after vengeful fury sought his head. Details but for a declared relative were lost in grief and anger, and to be silenced forever by Siegfried’s own simple desire to run away. And every time he would try to speak, it would end in death anyway.

_All but once… that woman…_

But here, while he did not care for fighting for his life, every word weighed heavily upon him, as the men he merely saw as souls to be harvested as Nightmare now had names and families. And for the sake of carrying on, he kept silent as a simple fact dawned on him: There was no redemption. At some point the truth would be out, and people will do what they do best.

_Slay what they fear._

A heap fell before them from atop one of the stone walls at either side of the path. For a second, Siegfried thought that was but a human body, but as it squirmed on the ground he noticed the scaly tail whipping about. Helplessly, it lashed out its limbs, until a great lizard head stared up at Siegfried, its jaw hanging own as blood poured around the hilt of a knife imbedded in its neck.

A great hiss— _No, a collection of hissing throats_ —filled the air just as Siegfried spotted the small head of Alaric from up top on of the risen rocks.

_“We got company!”_ Alaric shouted, before disappearing once more.

Siegfried tore his great sword from his sheath as his eyes tore from one side of the trail to the other. An orchestra of steel sounded around him, Salia with her shield and sword, Kilik’s with his staff spinning in hand…

The tall mercenary looked behind, already spotting the flash of steel, followed by a spurt of red. Suddenly, a crawling scaly form crawled down the mountain, followed by another, and another and…

“ _We’re being swarmed!”_ shouted Xianghua.

The mercenary heard but a crunch in the stone behind him and he took no chances. Siegfried swung his sword out, the blade cutting into the haft of a great axe. But it did not stop, the weighty weapon pushing through and digging into a scaly limp. The lizard head before him cry out, toothy mouth hissing and slit eyes glaring back into his.

Thrusting out his foot, Siegfried caught the lizardman in his chest, sending him tumbling back. But another sword fell upon him like lightning. Siegfried lifted his blade, catching edge just short of his face, staring into another pair of slight eyes. This lizardman twisted his body and lashed out its tail, wrapping it around Siegfried’s arm, nearly making him release his hilt.

But the lizard was not as strong as it hoped.

Using his hips, Siegfried twisted his body, pulling his arm back, and by extension, pulled the lizard’s legs out from under him. It fell, its sword sliding off of Siegfried’s blade, and, before it could return to its feet, the end of a red rod came down like a guillotine and loud crack erupted from within the lizard’s skull.

Before he could think to thank him, Siegfried watched Kilik turn his body, much like a dancer, his staff spinning in the air like a small hurricane. All commands were lost, as the orchestral of steel and screams continued. Like a small storm of his own, Siegfried’s sword struck and flew, and in that blur that most fighters can only remember fragments of. For all his sights and ears could tell, the world was a rain of blood and scales, and the endless dissonant drum beat of steel with the melody of inhuman screams. Slit eyes were split in twain, scaly bodies were crushed under hammers and rods, and hisses were cut short, only for these lizard men to keep climbing down from their mountaintop. And all Siegfried could do, like the many combatants at his side, was rely on his instincts, his sword arm all but moving on its own and any wound put off until peace or death.

Through another scaly neck, his greatsword tore. With a small moment to breathe, Siegfried, looked back down the way they came, the blades Schwarzwind falling and flying in terrible arcs in their desperate attempt to fight them back. While he had no delusions that the fight is over before them, he quickly realized that there was no turning back. The only way out was forward.

_“Salia!”_ shouted Siegfried. _“There’s no ground to hold here! We need to move forward!”_

Cursing under her breath, Salia pulled her sword from the gaping maw of another lizard before glancing back down the road. Awkwardly, with her shield bound hand, she pulled a horn from her belt, and brought it to her lips. The familiar sound rang in Siegfried’s ears, the low bellow of a call he once commanded.

Slowly, the whole of the group of mercenaries began to move further up the hill, blades on the outside and behind, tearing into whatever scaly beast approached them. While his heart racing and his wrists starting to turn raw, Siegfried had to admit to himself, in the heat of battle, that the vigor was rejuvenating. Schwarzwind had returned to him in one manner or another, and while he had a lot to answer for (and answers he was picking the time for), he could think of no other place he would rather be if he tried.

Sadly, there was little time for pride.

“Walk around me!” shouted Kilik, holding his rod upright.

Siegfried glanced up the side of the mountain, up the overhanging cliff above them. Then, bringing his gaze back to Kilik, as the mercenaries shuffled around him, he noticed the rod in his hand began to turn a slight shade of blue. And there he meditated, his companions with sword and… “nunchuku”, if Siegfried recalled correctly, still moving about them like razor sharp talons.

Just as the last mercenary went by Kilik, Siegfried noticed that the horde had stopped, lined up across the mountain path, hissing and raising their weapons, but… Well, the eyes of a reptile were always impossible to read. And yet, the haunted mercenary could not help but noticed how they raised their shields and weapons, bracing themselves against the unseen. The slaughter of their army by Schwarzwind could not deter them, but they stared at the monk standing before them, all calm but for the ever blue flame of his weapon glowing brighter.

Kilik spun the rod in the air, bright enough to mark patterns in Siegfried’s vision, much like a fire dancer he once watched long ago. The monk then twisted about, spinning with both hands on one end of the rod, as the other, like a comet, struck the stone of the mountain, sending a load snap echoing into the air. Smoke rose from the end of the staff, followed very quickly by cracks stretching along the side of the stone wall. Groans erupted from the very stomach of the earth about them. But continue on their way the cracks did, reaching up and behind the overhanging cliff just about then. It was not long before it shifted just a hair.

And then it fell.

First came the small rocks, forcing their lizard men to raise their shields higher, one of them buckling from the collision. Another inch the overhanging rock went, until it finally dipped forward. And down the hill it rolled, such a mass and speed that no shield could hope to turn its course.

Before Kilik, many of the lizardmen began to scatter. First went the ones in the back, free without a crowd in their way, but the others were in panic, tripping over each other, biting and clawing to make it to safety. As Siegfried watched, Kilik turned his eyes away just before the great rock crashed, embedding itself into the mountain path with a definitive, deafening thunder. From upon the mountain tops in the distance and the sky above, the crash echoed like a battle drum from Hell beneath. Siegfried clutched his ears, as it felt like the entire mountain shook with that single strike.

Soon he could just feel the sound calm. He turned behind him, watching several of the Schwarzwind help each other to their feet. Laudau’s eyes remained gaped, as Salia stepped forward, gaze glued to the rock pile before them. Blood poured from underneath, as not even a limb reached beyond the rock; only red stained snow and the ends of a sword and spear.

In front of the mercenaries, Kilik breathed, finally lifting the rod from the small crater he left. Then a chuckle caught Siegfried’s ear.

“That’s a new one!” shouted Maxi. “Could have helped in Ostrheinsburg.”

“Not all the time,” said Kilik, leaning on the rod as he lifted a hand to Xianghua. “I’m fine, but… I’m going to need a moment.”

Salia gave him a smile. “Fair trade. You just earned us hours.”

But as the ringing finally settled in Siegfried’s ears, he realized that the rumbling within the earth, as subtle as it was, never truly stopped. Just about the fallen rock, blood still flowing from underneath, the weapons began to rattle upon the ground. The mercenary turned his gaze to the cracks in the stone wall beside them, and watched them stretch downward, into the road and toward Kilik’s feet. Almost instantly, the plates of the earth began to shift—

Without another thought, Siegfried reached for Kilik’s robes, seizing it in his hand. The monk barely seemed to register what was happening until he was already thrown up the trail and stumbling, only to be caught by one of the other mercenaries. With another shove, Siegfried sent Maxi to follow.

_“Get back—”_

The ground under Siegfried’s feet gave as the groaning grew louder. Losing the grip on his sword, he impotently reached out, but could not find purchase with his hand. Before darkness settled on his vision, he looked up, and the last thing he saw was Salia, looking down and calling out his name, her arm outstretched in a vain attempt to catch him.

And down he fell…

_“Siegfried!”_

Kilik stood himself back up, leaning into the rod, and gazing into the black void his arts had left behind. In front of him, Xianghua dusted herself off, as Maxi finally let go of Kilik’s arm.

“Sorry, that was…” said the former sailor. “That was…”

“No,” said Salia, her gazing darting from one end of the newly formed chasm to the other. “No, not…”

Even the groans of the earth seemed a whisper to the popping of her knuckles. All was silent, the lizardmen seemingly nowhere to be found, and words held back. As Kilik looked around, many of the mercenaries shared her gaze in one manner or another. Anger and grief, as the monk had seen many times in his travels, tended to hold hands in a time of loss, and never had they been so embraced to each other than at that moment.

_An uneasy friendship…_

Yet, those were sometimes the hardest to let go. There burned the eternal question of how it could have been healed, how even the most burning tempers could calm. And that terrible realization far too late that the wedge between them was meaningless. Things could have been better, and stubborn pride being the only, unshakeable obstacle.

And then the cold feeling in Kilik stomach sank as he stared at the destruction before him. There was no choice, right? They were swarmed, and he knew they already lost a great deal before Siegfried gave his life for him.

Salia turned around, eyes redden, but it seemed tears would not dare show themselves. With a quick glance, she glared at Kilik eyes. It was only for a second, but her feelings were clear. She continued until she could address all of Schwarzwind.

“We keep going,” she said.

Landau raised his brow.

“You heard me,” she said, before Landau could say a word. “We find this cult and we find the Azure Knight. I do not know what in the burning hells that thing did to him, but we tear him limb from limb, and we make him beg for oblivion! Too long have we sat on the side, watching helplessly as we are bombarded again and again, garrisons and guards fallen and towns crushed. Today, we find him and strike this damn plague at its source!”

There was no cheer to her words, but that was not the point. One by one, the mercenaries straightened themselves up, their grief giving way entirely to a silent, resolved fury. And from inside, Kilik could feel his own fatigue lift.

Xianghua looked to the monk, feeling his hand.

“We keep going as well,” said the monk, standing straight. “It’s the least we can do.”

Without a word, but for a worried look in her eyes, Xianghua nodded. And so the three fell in line, following the angered and bereaved mercenaries further along the trail.


	4. Engineers of the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophitia and Taki discover an opening in the mountains to the south after a great fissure erupted. Schwarzwind continues their journey.

_What was that!?_

Sophitia pulled at her reins, as she felt Taki’s grip about her waist tighten. For a long minute, the entire air around her seemed to shake, a great thunder like nothing she had ever heard. It was all she could do to keep the horse steady.

Things had finally calmed, but the echo lingered, and it was only then that she gazed upon the mountains to the south. At first glance, she noticed nothing, but then she realized an entire dust cloud stretched from the top to the very bottom. Rocks fell and overhanging cliffs were knocked from their perches. And while she was too far to be certain, she could have sworn she saw strange shapes upon the mountain.

It was never truly “prophecy” that guided Sophitia’s path. At least, not how outsiders perceive it. It is a prediction because the gods themselves are guessing, to her mind. They know of the great powers moving upon the land, they can see calamity approach as one may predict the weather. But in her own travels, she had learned to trust this foresight, even if it is, at the end, a guess.

She reached down upon the horse’s neck, feeling it tremble and slowing petting it in order to calm it down.

_Poseidon. Grant this steed courage._

Pulling on the reins, she turned her horse toward the mountain, the dust clearing and the split more defined. From within, there was but shadow, but from within she felt something beckoning, a familiar comfort. A light shone from the darkness. Or are those a pair?

_Are those eyes staring back?_

“Change of plans?” asked Taki.

“Something is in there,” said Sophitia.

“I don’t suppose I can ask for specifics.”

“Just… trust me?”

Taki gave a small laugh. “Of course! I just want to know what I’m aiming at.”

“Nothing yet, but…” Sophitia gripped the reins tight, “… we shall see.”

With a quick flick of the reins, the horse gave a whinny as it fell into a gallop. Mercilessly, it dug its hooves into the ground, over the knolls and fields before them. All the while, despite the bumpy road, the warrior kept her eyes fixed, the mountain looming further into the sky with every mile, every small hill. Darkness still ruled the fissure before them, but from faith alone, she knew this was her path.

Her steed finally galloped past the first rocks, the first detritus, from the sudden quake. With the mountain only steps away, she pulled at the reins, slowing the horse down until he finally came to a halt. As the horse stood there, Sophitia gazed inside.

“A statue?” asked Taki.

“Hard to tell,” said the warrior. “We’d best go in.”

Without make a sound, Taki let go swiftly and hopped onto the ground. With a hand still on the reins, Sophitia swung her leg over the horse and stepped down. As she brushed her hand over the horse’s neck a couple of times, Taki pulled down the bag, which landed onto the ground with a pile of metallic rings.

Feeling the horse calm down, Sophitia turned to the bag and undid the knots. As soon as it was released, the bag rolled out, every plate laid out before her, their straps undone but shining bright in the sun. One by one, she donned her breastplate, vanguards and all in between, strapping each one tight, every lesson and broken bone of her training returning to her like a glove. Rolling out the cloth further, she saw her shield gleam, old nicks and undone dents doing nothing to ruin the luster of the golden ram horns painted upon the blue backdrop. Upon her belt, she tied her sword, the Omega, before picking up her shield by the handle.

All the while, Taki had draped her cloak over the back of the horse. With a trained hand even Sophitia herself would envy, she drew her daggers, one on her belt and another over her shoulders, looked over the quiet, odd gleam of their blades and place them back. On a belt across her chest, Taki placed round bombs and other assorted knives into their sheaths.

She was not dressed in anything heavy, Sophitia acknowledged, but the front lines were never her place in battle. Not that the warrior would ever dare call her a coward. There were plenty of assassins where she lived, all dressed as entertainers or whatever was frequently close to the target. But Taki was not one of them, not someone who simply wanted to blend into the streets. Demons were her prey, and she dared not let herself even fall under a glance. Not a single inch of her wares were wasted on armor or even skirts and fanfare. Mobility and silence were her shields.

_And Cervantes never saw her coming._

With a final pull upon her shield strap, Sophitia turned to the great chasm down the height of the mountain and began her trek. Keeping one hand upon the hilt of her sword, she stepped over rock after rock, into the lingering wall of dust illuminated by the midday sun. It was far from suffocating, but she gaze up the mountain, searching for any stray rocks or cliffs that threatened a blade of Damocles. Not questioning the stillness of the rest of the stone, she kept moving forward.

Finally, the rocks and detritus gave way to a stone floor, tiles lit up in the meager sunlight let through. But it was far from pitch black inside, and as Sophitia finally got a clear look inside, she came to a halt and found the eyes that stared back at her.

Looming over an anvil, the whitened, beard statue stood, its paint in vague shades of its former glory. With an upraised hand, it held a great hammer, ready to strike at what appears to be an empty grasp of its hand upon the anvil itself. Wooden braces, not tall sandals like Sophitia initially thought, were wrapped about its ankles, which stood disfigured by design.

“Hephaestus…” Sophitia uttered.

Taki stepped forward. “Who is that?”

“No, I mean,” said the warrior, clearing her voice, “that is Hephaestus, the forge master of the gods.”

“All the way out here?”

Sophitia smiled. “The Romans were… inspired, let’s say, by our gods. They called the forge master Vulcan.”

The warrior watched as Taki mouthed the two names, with a gaze as though mentally trying to fit seashell into a knife shaped hole.

“It… probably made sense in Latin,” said Sophitia, with a laugh.

“ _Down!”_ hissed Taki.

Sophitia felt the demon slayer’s grip upon her arm as she was pulled aside and behind one of the larger rocks embedded in the groudn. Keeping her back to the rock, she watched as Taki glanced around the corner. Slowly, Sophitia gripped the hilt of her sword, and steadily pulled it from its sheath, barely making a sound as steel slid against the inside of the scabbard. Taki had her daggers drawn, and all was silent, to the point where she wonder what the demon slayer was on about.

And then she heard the echoes of footsteps. Stepping as quietly as she could in her full battle array, she gazed over Taki’s shoulder. Well to the right of Hephaestus (or Vulcan), she spotted a stone staircase ascending deeper into the rocky wall. Green robes billowed with each step of the two men descending the stairs, and Sophitia could swear there was a scaly texture to their cloth.

“Was that an earthquake or something?” shouted one. “Nearly pissed myself!”

“Concentrated on the side of the mountain?” said the other. “I doubt it. Perhaps our trespassers know some magic of their own.”

“Not many of the lizard men returned,” said the first one again. “We will have to be— Hello…”

The first robed man stepped quicker as he touched on the tiled floor, gazing at part of the pile of rubble. The other quickly followed, their gaze fixed on the fallen rocks.

“Hey!” shouted the first, moving some rocks aside. “I think one of them fell through. Clumsy oaf!”

As the first rocks were set aside by the robed man, Sophitia caught sight of a leg, and, very close by, a great sword. No, she realized, not the kind of great sword she sees often.

_I know I’ve seen that before…_

“We got a live one!” said the first, pulling on the obscured man’s arm. “What d’ya think?”

“Let’s bring him to Kunpaetku,” said the second one. “I’m sure he can… devise a few purposes out of his hide.”

_So, the Fygul Cestemus… They are here._

As they hoisted the man upright, the fallen one’s blonde hair tossed about as his head hung limply toward Sophitia. Her heart skipped a beat as she gazed at the great sword one more time. She recalled this man’s panicked eyes, his nearly incomprehensible speech, both terrifying and terrified. Once, she had been able to console the man, but she never did know where he went afterwards.

The man’s limp form was carried, up the stairs and quickly out of sight. And it was all Sophitia could do to stop herself from running and saving him.

“We’ve arrived,” said Sophitia.

Only slightly did Taki shift her head.

“We are near the shrine to Fygul Cestemus.”

Taki sighed. “My apologies to our good Vulcustus. But placed near your forgemaster?”

“Part of the same family,” said Sophitia, not without a hint of irony.

“I suppose it would be asking a lot,” said Taki, “using that common ground?”

But Sophitia’s face turned dower. “Ares is a privileged, fickle coward, bathing in the blood of battles. Hephaestus was born to ruin, a cripple, but wiser and worthier in every way.”

Taki sighed. “In either case, we should hurry.”

“Indeed,” said Sophitia. “Let’s make sure that lost soul is not gone from us.”

Siegfried nearly coughed out a lung as he felt cold water splashed against his face. He opened his eyes only find a wall of blurry green as his vision slowly started to clear. Somewhere in his head, a vein threatened to burst from his skull, an endless throbbing drum beating and grinding his brain into the dust.

Only slightly did it subside as he was certain he could see again. To his right, the torch light illuminated the almost entirely green wall, painted in a scaly, spiraling patterns. Snake heads came and went, decorating the walls and floors, as motifs of slit eyes seemed to stare back at him.

Finally, he realized that his arms were upraised. A single pull, and all he could do was rattle a few chains above him.

“A strong one, yes,” said an aged voice, drawing Siegfried’s eyes. “But I think you need a bit more leverage to break out of those.”

The man’s lips curled into a smile, upon a face younger than the mercenary had expected. Looking back at him, the man raised his brow, crinkling slightly the black, fire like motif tattoo upon his forehead, beneath a white widow’s peak.

“Forgive me,” said the man, bowing, bringing his left hand, within a green, robed sleeve, to his chest. “I am Kunpaetku, and I am the high priest of our good order.”

Siegfried said nothing, eying the robed guards by him, faces masked in green scales and their spears upraised. An odd smell reached him, and every instinct told him that he should not breathe too much of it in. His heart raced as he gripped the chains above him tightly.

“Not much for speaking, it would seem,” said Kunpaetku, turning around. He took a few steps away from him, before he nudged Siegfried’s great sword with his foot as it lay on the floor.

“You are a strong one,” said Kunpaetku, his sleeved hands folded behind him. “I have come to recognize the strength of the fighting man through my years. After all, it is Ares we praise.”

“I see few warriors,” said Siegfried, glaring the robed guards. But they little more than glanced back at him.

The High Priest simply laughed.

“And an observant one,” he went on, stepping closer to the other side of the room. “Indeed, we are more… priests than warriors. We have faith where others have steel. But we know a thing or two about returning the spirits of old fighters back to the field of battle.”

“And lizard men?”

“Strong, quick, and nary a thought but their own instincts,” the High Priest retorted. “The souls of warriors in a more dependable form. And souls, more than steel, is what we value.”

With a flick of the wrist, he grabbed a cloth, draping over what looked like a broad head and shoulders that Siegfried had only noticed then and there. A single pull, and it lay spread out upon the ground, and the head it covered glared back at him.

White glowing eyes stared back at him from a bold, bronze head. All was bared but for his face, masked and shifting as a growl sounded from within. As this stone like body straightened itself, Siegfried could see a red form pulsating upon its chest like a heart. And then a cold chill ran down the mercenary’s spine which had nothing to do with cold water still upon his body.

For he knew who he was.

“But in more recent years,” Kunpaetku went on, looking back with a hint of pride to his eyes, “we began with grander projects. A true warrior, for he is many. Countless souls all in one vessel, a vision of War itself. Astaroth, in our tongue.”

Astaroth’s glowing eyes narrowed, and the mercenary marveled at how silent it was.

“But alas,” the High Priest went on. “I gave him a simple task, and, by some account, fell to a single fighter.”

From within the creature’s mask, Siegfried swore he heard a curse.

“No matter,” Kunpaetku went on. “There is little trouble in healing him through more souls.”

The High Priest glared into Siegfried’s eyes.

“Your companions may be arriving at our sacred shrine soon, and now a better part of my temple has been torn asunder,” said Kunpaetku. “When I return, I will need answers. And if cannot retrieve them, I will have your soul. The soul of a fighting man. Meditate on that until I return.”

The High Priest raised a hand, and, like clockwork, his guard turned and followed him across the green scaly floor and out a door that Siegfried could not see. After the echo subsided, there was only silence. Well, silence, and the great glaring giant before him. For a tedious moment, Siegfried adjusted his legs, trying to find the best position. No that he expected a great deal of comfort—

The brow of the giant before him bent down, his eyes glowing greater. And then, from underneath that mask, a great laugh erupted, in a voice like a crowd old warriors in dissonant humor. The laughter went on, endless voices, before his eyes opened once more with a glare more terrible than before.

“Well, well, well!” said Astaroth, in between laughs. “Never thought I would see you, again! At least I’m not the only one that fell to pieces!”

Siegfried let out a sigh.

“Surprised?” said the giant. “Not wearing that gaudy helmet anymore, but I’ve got too many warriors inside me to _not_ recognize your voice, your eyes. I kind of miss the glow.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Siegfried.

Unfortunately, that only made his laughter greater.

“Lost your manners?” Astaroth went on, the enjoyment in his voice like a dagger to the mercenary’s ears. “And your sense of humor? Don’t you remember the battles we waged? I was cooped up here with priests staring at my every move, but at your castle? That was a time!”

Gritting his teeth, Siegfried turned his gaze away to stare at something else, anything else. Alas, there was no taking his attention away from the bloodthirsty giant before him.

“Lost the Soul Edge, I see,” Astaroth went on. “Looks like I wasn’t the only one! I hear them talking about some Azure Knight walking about again, but now here _you_ are! No stories for your old comrade?”

“The only words I have,” said Siegfried, pulling impotently at the chains over his head, “are for your silence and our disbanding.”

Astaroth scoffed.

“Figured it was just a whelp under that mask!” said the giant. “No plan, no thought. I was amazed you coordinated enough to keep us around!”

“And you are just another fool,” said Siegfried. “Another potential puppet of that sword.”

“Oh, you don’t have to talk to me about puppets!” Astaroth shouted, in a manner that Siegfried could hear as well as feel under his skin. “You think I enjoyed realizing the kind of tool that I am? Stuck here for some kind of ‘recovery’? For the sake of a god no one outside here cares for? Outside I lived and breathed my freedom, as all the souls inside me craved for.”

Siegfried opened his mouth, but held back his tongue. This was a simple creature before him, never worth arguing with, despite whatever twisted craft conjured him. Yet, curiosity found him wanting, as he did not truly have conversations with this creature, aside from commands from within the suit of armor he wore.

“What are you?” asked Siegfried.

“The finest warrior,” said Astaroth, straightening himself, the chains upon him rattling. “I was built for this. Give me an axe, and I will know every way to carve the foundations of towers. Too many souls to count guiding every inch of this body.”

“So, all you know is bloodlust?” asked Siegfried.

Another laugh erupted. “Pot and the kettle!”

“Not necessarily,” said the mercenary. “While I wielded the blade, there was nothing else but souls to harvest. It was a one track mind, feeding me with impossible promises.”

“Right,” said Astaroth. “That father of yours you wouldn’t shut up about.”

“But the promises worked,” said Siegfried, “even if they were empty. All that brought to my life was misery. Nothing but murder.”

Another laugh erupted from within the mask.

“What are we but killers?”

Siegfried raised a brow.

“War is far from new,” said Astaroth. “Of all the things the souls inside my body have taught me, one thing that rang truest of all is that we were born to spill blood. Can you even _guess_ how many warriors, how many centuries of bloodshed I come from? You go and whine and prattle on about hurting and killing, and you think you are _better_ for letting go of all that power?”

Siegfried’s knuckles popped.

“I am honesty incarnate!” shouted Astaroth. “The world wants blood, and I will gladly oblige! Many people look at me and shout ‘monster’ before being hacked apart, but I am only the result of countless monsters _long_ before I walked the earth. I’m just here to ride the red tidal wave to the very conclusion of these fools.”

_Sorry I asked._

With another sigh, Siegfried merely glared back into this creature’s glowing eyes. The mercenary will never condone his own actions in the past, but Astaroth will never know shame. Siegfried could almost scoff; this giant _was_ being honest, he supposed.

The mercenary recalled every sacrifice Astaroth brought to Ostrheinsburg, every screaming woman, and every half dead soldier, all of them devoured by that terrible blade. So many dead, all for the false promise of bringing back one man. Every death felt like progress, every soul a step closer to bringing him back. Was that enjoyment he felt? A hunger that was refreshed? Anticipation? Were the feelings even his own?

In either case, he felt it, that terrible bloodthirst, insatiable even if all on earth were to fall to Soul Edge. He would be dishonest with himself if he claimed never to have felt the thrill. And, like Astaroth, hate and warfare were a part of this world long before the cursed blade was forged, and longer still before the day it thirsted for souls it could no longer claim.

Astaroth and Soul Edge, man and weapon, and the millions of souls within.

_Perhaps they were forged for each other._

Salia raised her hand, and Kilik stopped, feet planted in the thicker snow. The mountain path before them had begun to descend around the peak, under the lip of another cliff. After what had happened with the lizardmen, things had gotten quiet. But all the while, the monk would feel his heart race, even after he had recovered from tearing the mountain apart.

But then the echo of a scream reached his ears.

Like a feather, that scout, Alaric, fell upon the trail, face pale and, while he was still balanced with that uncanny grace of his, he looked down the curving, descending path.

“The Azure Knight,” he said. “He is heading down that trail. There’s a cave entrance ahead, and he seems dead set on heading inside.”

“Maybe that cult is there?” said Maxi, cracking his knuckles and stretching his neck. “More lizards?”

Salia paused, and then turned to look Kilik in the eye.

“Any last minute advice?” she asked.

Kilik gripped the staff tight, memories of that fight returning to him. They had the guard at their back last time, with Maxi had tangling with that giant. The fight against the Knight himself was up to him and Xianghua. The monk was convinced that if he knew one less technique, one less secret or lesson from his master, that fight would have gone very differently. It had nearly destroyed them both, and everything happened so fast that he didn’t even see the knight himself escape.

“Leave him to us,” was all Kilik could say. “And there’s no turning back once we enter that cave.”

Salia flashed her teeth, but then nodded as she turned back to the rest of the mercenaries.

“Everyone!” she said, in her usual, sharp tone. “You keep these lizard or whatever the hell else they created off of our friends here. The Azure Knight must fall here!”

Landau drew his sword, as all other blades, hammers and axes followed suit. There was not cheer in their eyes. It was a quiet resignation, a final breath, a last gasp of air before diving into an ocean of blood.

“For Siegfried,” said Landau.

Salia looked him in the eye, but nodded once more. “For Siegfried,” she said.

Another scream reached them, followed by a howl no wolf could have possibly mustered. With a flick of the wrist, the staff in Kilik’s hand, spun around, until he gripped it with both hands, and glared down the road. Turning to Xianghua and Maxi beside him, sword and nunchuku drawn, they nodded.

With her own sword in hand, Salia turned down the road, raising her shield.

“Let’s send this creature back to Hell!”

Siegfried shook awake, chains still holding his arms up over his head. Quickly recalling where he was, the mercenary heard quickened feet, coming in closer and closer, until Kunpaetku appeared, his two guard in tow. All the while, his gaze was on Astaroth.

The creature glared back at him, as the High Priest produced keys from his belt, rattling in his hands.

“Well, it’s about time!” shouted Astaroth. “Another year of this—”

“Enough, you fool!” shouted the High Priest. “The Azure Knight is here.”

And so that chill returned to Siegfried’s spine. But he kept his eye on the giant, and, for once, Astaroth held his tongue as he raised his brow. One by one, the chains loosened, as the creature’s arms stretched out, every joint popping and his neck cracking. With the last chain loose, he stepped over and grabbed the haft of the axe. As he held it up in both hands, it nearly matched his own height, already a few feet towering over the high priest.

“Should I test this on our guest?” said Astaroth with a laugh, turning his glowing gaze upon Siegfried.

“You still need to recover!” snapped Kunpaetku, sweat pouring down his face. “We must fight the Azure Knight, and I would not have released you otherwise.”

“Have it your way!” said the giant, as the high priest stepped out. Astaroth turned to Siegfried, pointing a rocky arm at him.

“It’s been fun!” the giant said with a grin. “Stay and rot while I take out this imposter, will ya!?”

Leaving a small tremor with each step, Astaroth ran out, axe and hand and a renewed vigor in his eyes. The Azure Knight, apparently here, still haunting him, now in some kind of flesh. “Imposter” the giant said. That had not occurred to him. The village turned to ash and the death that came with it… Very few things matched Azure Knight in that kind of a massacre.

Siegfried knew more than anyone else, as far as he could tell.

_What was that?_

A scamper… or a step, it was hard to tell. But something had moved, brushed against the floor or the wall. He darted his gaze, finding little in the shadows. Then he heard it again, and pointed his head toward where Astaroth was sitting—

Slight eyes stared back at him over a lizard snout. The chains over Siegfried rattled, as he nearly jumped out of his skin. Impotently, he fought against the grip of the chains.

And yet, the lizardman just stood there, staring at him more out of curiosity than any readable malice. Not that reptiles were ever easy to read, as it continued staring, head shifting and turning with its golden horns complimenting his blue-green scales. As the lizardman’s tongue flicked a few more times, it dawned on Siegfried that he had seen this one before.

_Right, he came to the castle with Astaroth, just following him…_

“I know you,” said Siegfried, wondering if the lizard could understand him. “Admittedly, things were different. Were you human?”

_What am I doing?_

Then the lizardman turned its head to the chains above Siegfried. It then turned around and scampered away, just out of sight around a corner. And once more, Siegfried was left to his lonesome, gritting his teeth and fighting all temptation to shout. Somewhere in this godforsaken mountain, some wielder of Soul Edge prowled, and, while the mercenary had no love for this cult, he would probably be a target very soon. And once that happens—

The scampering sounded returned, just as the lizardman stepped back into view, lumbering forward with another large axe in his hands. Siegfried froze, glaring at the axe and then at the lizard’s unreadable face. Quickly, the lizard swung the axe back, eyes glaring up, taking a breath…

_I guess this is it._

By instinct, Siegfried lowered his head, as pointless as that was. The head of the axe flew up, just past his head and the sound of steel splitting steel rang in his ears. He failed to plant his feet, and as his arms dropped, he fell upon his backside, staring at the severed remains of the chains. As he felt blood settling in his arms again, he took in the relief as though an ale after a long, dry week.

Slowly, Siegfried rose to his feet, as the lizardman dropped the axe, the head landing on the floor with a loud clang. As the mercenary stretched out his arms, he kept his gaze on the walking lizard, its eyes somehow making it seem mournful.

“Why?” asked Siegfried.

The lizard made a couple of hisses, before it stretched out a clawed hand pointing at the mercenary. Staying quiet, Siegfried watched his hand remain, before it turned its hand toward itself. It took Siegfried a moment, but then he finally sighed.

“You _were_ human,” said the mercenary.

The lizardman seemed not to understand at first, but then it hissed and nodded.

“I am so sorry,” said Siegfried. “I… had not been myself either.”

The lizard shook itself, before turning around. It nudged its foot against the mercenary’s greatsword before waving its hand toward the door. With a shrug, Siegfried took up the familiar blade, feeling his fingers tingle despite the tight cuffs about his wrists.

“I hope you have a plan,” said Siegfried.

In response, the lizard gazed at him for a long moment, before turning back to the door and scurrying down a stairway. Without much else to go on, the mercenary followed, down the stairs, his steps and the scurrying of the lizard in front of him echoing down the hall. It seemed to twist and turn, beyond and practical design. And then another turn…

The hallway opened up, a green, scaly designed sanctuary before them. Light poured in from the ceiling above, casted upon the altar, wrapped in a snake like designed. A great eye at the opposite end of the cavern oversaw all, and just beyond this wall, he could see the floor curve downward into a space where he only saw a green haze. Cries of panic and war echoed from within, coming to him only as an echo.

Slowly, he followed the lizardman across, darting its eyes from one end to the other. Then it halted. Siegfried followed its gaze, to a door that he only saw when it began to open.

“I do not care how many of our men it takes,” said Kunpaetku’s voice echoed, as the High Priest himself stepped out. Then he halted his feet, one of the guards behind him nearly walking into him, as his gaze shifted between the lizardman and Siegfried.


	5. Under the Eyes of Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siegfried confronts Kunpaetku, and discovers the answers he had been seeking.

“Leaving it your dogs?” mocked Siegfried.

Without another word, the High Priest pressed his fingers to his mouth and blew out a whistle that almost resembled a hiss. A heavy marched rang through the sanctuary, as green robes, all armed with swords and pikes, poured into the sanctuary. All of them were masked, but as Siegfried tore his gaze into one direction and then the other, he could feel their glare, all in unison, all thirsting for blood.

“No,” said Kunpaetku with a grin, “to my pawns, all rushing forward in the hopes of reaching the end of the board.”

“Empty promises,” said Siegfried with a sneer.

“Wishes upon a star,” said the High Priest. “Prayers to a god answered.”

Siegfried raised his sword, accepting death in exchange for escaping another moment hung up in chains. But then he spotted a dark shape, somewhere to his right, just behind the guards. Then there was a burning smell, just as he spotted a hint of smoke—

Then thunder struck.

His ear rang as the smoke turned to fire, a miniature sun in the midst of the green, scaly walls of the sanctuary. Flaming, screaming bodies ran out before falling to a heap as their steel arms scattered and their masks shattered.

As his hearing returned, he heard clash of steel and screams of agony behind him. He turned…

Stepping amidst the fallen, clad in steel shining in fire and sun, a woman raised her shield, bloodied sword at the ready and blue eyes staring out with the calm of a nocked arrow. She turned quickly, batting away a blade with her shield as she sent her sword flashing down like lightning, followed by a rain of blood pouring from the guard’s robes. All the while, her braided blonde hair followed like the tail of a comet.

_Where have I seen—?_

Somewhere behind Siegfried, more thunder erupted. Without wasting another second dwelling on it, he padded the lizardman on the shoulder before running toward the woman, sword upraised and his gaze set upon another of the guard. Just as the guard raised his blade, dead set for the woman’s back, Siegfried brought his sword down.

The blade tore through the green robed man’s wrist, flesh and bone little more resistance than air. With his sword’s point on the floor, Siegfried threw his shoulder into the guard’s stomach, sending his body into the wall, his head hitting the wall with a sickening crack. As the guard fell limply onto the floor, blood pouring from his wrist, Siegfried put his back to the wall, eyeing the remaining guards amidst the fiery chaos before him.

The woman turned her eyes back to him, almost taken aback by Siegfried’s presence. Once more, the mercenary thought he had seen her before, but there was little time for words or memory. But in that brief second, neither he nor the woman questioned their new found alliance. A man and woman, neither truly knowing to each other but for a mutual disdain for the cult that haunted them.

Another flash of fire erupted. As it caught his eye, Siegfried, spotted Kunpaetku covering himself with his arm, as an eerie green light enveloped him.

 _“There!”_ shouted Siegfried. The woman followed his and gave a simple nod.

And into the fray, like lions, they lunged. Steel broke steel, fists broke bone and her shield struck like a battering ram. The otherwise green, scaly ground was painted red and covered in the green robes of the guard.

As they drew closer, Siegfried, looked over his shoulder, feeling another sword come his way. But all he found was another of the guard, a dagger, not like one he had seen before, sticking out of his neck. Once more, he swore he saw that dark shape, only for it to be dismissed like a half remembered dream.

One more green robed body fell as the woman pulled her blood soaked blade out of his stomach. Just beyond her, Kunpaetku glared, his body trembling as he stepped back, hand reaching for a wall only for his fingers to grace air.

 _“Stand back!”_ he shouted, as he raised a hand toward Siegfried. A green glow emitted from between the priest’s fingers, as the mercenary felt its heat from where he stood. As it grew brighter, the woman stepped in between the priest and Siegfried, her shield raised—

The light became that of a small, green sun, as Siegfried smelled burning flesh around him. He raised his sword and the light grew brighter, but he began to realize that he could not feel that strange heat any longer.

Finally, the light receded, the shield of the woman in front of him glowing a faint blue. Then he heard a burning hiss. He glanced down upon the floor, the smoldering remains of a guard lay smoking, glaring an eyeless gaze into oblivion. Then he saw another, and then another until he realized that all they slew but for the ones right behind them smoldered in a green haze.

The woman stepped forward, shield still raised and staring back into the now pale face of the priest.

“Very well, whore of Vulcan!” the priest hissed, raising his hand to the rocky ceiling.

Once more, Siegfried saw a shadow move—

The priest’s eyes nearly shot of his skull as a glowing dagger erupted from Kunpaetku’s chest. Blood poured down his robes as he gasped for air. And it was only then that the black haired woman’s face appeared, glaring over the shoulder of the priest’s shaking form, As his body finally stiffened, he fell forward sliding off of the dagger’s blade and onto the floor in a wet heap.

Shaking the sparse drops of blood from the blade, the black haired woman sheathed the dagger and took one last glance about the sanctuary. Satisfied, she relaxed her posture, stepping toward the two in steps so quiet that they seemed ghostlike.

“Hope that’s most of them,” the dark haired woman said. “Those were _most_ of my bombs.”

Without a word, the shield woman turned back to Siegfried, looking him up and down. As he stared back into her blue eyes, it all came back to him. When he was first defeated by Kilik, all he knew was running from one town to the other, only to be driven out by cries of revenge. Rightfully so, he supposed, but he was soon unable to draw the line between a passerby and a threat.

Then this woman approached him. There was a fight, of course, but she disarmed him and, just when he thought his life had come to an end, she stayed her hand. Either by some magic or just her mercy, he was able to see clearly once more. He would relapse, he would don that terrible guise of the Azure Knight once more, but for that brief moment, for once in that madness, there was a small window of peace.

“I know you,” Siegfried said.

The woman gave a grin. “I am glad to see you safe.”

_Not if you knew me…_

“But I don’t think we were properly introduced,” she went on, giving a small bow. “Sophitia Alexandros, daughter of Achelous and guardian of Hephaestus.”

For a second, Siegfried wondered if he should give his name. But then he decided that his sins were already too great and that lies would not be one of them.

“Siegfried,” he said. “Siegfried Schtauffen.”

Again, she gave a small nod. She then turned to the woman behind her, standing up and placing a dagger back into its sheath upon her dark, fitted clothing.

“This is Taki.”

Taki gave a nod, before looking down the doorway the High Priest came in, as though not wanting to waste another moment on pleasantries.

“So you think Heph is satisfied?” asked Taki. “We could head back the way we came, but I have a feeling there’s more here.”

 _“Hephaestus—”_ Sophitia stopped herself and shook her head. “Anyway it’s not about whether or not he’s ‘satisfied’. It’s…”

The warrior then turned back to Siegfried.

“Actually, what brought you here?” Sophitia asked. “Were they after you?”

Siegfried shook his head.

“Not exactly,” he said. “We were in pursuit of the Azure Knight and tracked him down here.”

Sophitia’s eyes widened.

“I had heard he had fallen,” she said.

“Soul Edge,” said Siegfried, with a sigh, “is more complicated than that. He walks again, he had already set an entire town aflame. We followed him up this accursed mountain. _Wait…_ ”

Siegfried looked about the sanctuary, only to realize that he did not know where to look.

“Did you come across a company of mercenaries?” he asked in a panic. “Led by a woman, Salia? Also, found some strange company along the way…”

Sophitia shook his head.

“A fissure opened up down the side of a mountain,” she said. “We came to look, found you being carried off and… here we are.”

Siegfried cursed under his breath, just as something shuffled behind him. He turned around, to spot one of the charred bodies rolling over, just before a lizard head rose just over it. It coughed a couple of times before rising to its feet.

Sophitia stepped by the mercenary, sword raised, but Siegfried seized her arm.

“It’s alright,” said the mercenary. “He… she… The lizard’s with me.”

“What?” she asked, as the lizardman scurried over.

“He cut me loose,” said Siegfried.

_Wait!_

He turned to the lizard. “Do you know where the main entrance is? From up high?”

After an agonizing second, the lizard paused, before looking toward the doorway to the sanctuary that the high priest came out of. Another second later, it turned to Siegfried and nodded.

“I know you saved my life already,” said Siegfried, looking to Sophitia. “But I need your help further. The Azure Knight could be here any second, as could my companions.”

“You need not say anymore,” said the warrior, brow bent over her blue eyes. She then turned to her companion, who stood there arms crossed and head lowered as though listening. “Taki?”

“If it’s about Soul Edge,” said Taki, stretching her neck, “then I can’t ignore this either.”

Upon hearing a shift of steel against stone, Siegfried turned his gaze to find the lizard man strapping a shield upon his left arm before picking up a small axe. Facing the doorway once more, he waved for them to follow. Hurriedly, he ran, in no human manner.

Letting out a laugh, Taki, it would seem, could not help but smile.

“This’ll be fun.”

The lizard ran fast, and every turn in this ascending and descending labyrinth seemed to bring Siegfried panic that he had lost his strange new companion. But always, just within his sight, he would see a waving shield upon a scaly arm or the end of its tail. On they went, slit eyes keeping watch over them upon the green walls.

And then the sound of clashing steel reached his ears, just short of drowning out the screams.

_“Hold!”_ shouted a voice, just beyond another corner. _“He must not reach the High Pr—”_

Another scream rang through. Ahead, the lizard stood and stared around that corner. The three reached him, and Siegfried followed his gaze.

A great hall opened before them. Torchlight danced upon the paint-worn, marble statue standing at one end, from the crumbled legs, up its spear and shield and over its face, staring from under an upraised helmet.

And a sudden splash of blood stained its feet red.

_My God…_

Under the gaze of his war god, more of the green robed cultists held their spears, tips shaking at a great armored figure. Burning red-violet eyes glowed from within his single horned helmet, shining upon his own dark blue steel armor. As he raised the Soul Edge, he opened and closed that same fleshy three-clawed right hand, and Siegfried immediately felt his hand twitch. But glowing brighter still was the sword in his hand, as the phantom of an iris stared out from the flat of the blade.

“ _What spawn of Typhon…?_ ” said Sophitia, her own blue eyes widened upon this twisted sight.

“ _That_ is Soul Edge?” muttered Taki, just over his shoulder.

Siegfried thought the answer was obvious, but the sword… He remembered the eye, but Siegfried recalled that it was more solidified than whatever ghostly iris was staring out in front of them in that very moment. Cracks and dents ran down the blade, pieces missing from the length of steel.

The mercenary felt his right hand twitch once more. He clutched it closed, keeping the pulsating from within at bay. Now was not the time…

A heavy step drew his eyes to the other end of the sanctuary. There Astaroth stood, his axe raised as his eagerly glowing white eyes stared upon the Azure Knight. Even from under the giant’s mask, Siegfried could see his smile, like a gladiator finally back in the ring after _far_ too long. Like the many gladiators likely occupying his body…

_And many souls beyond._

“We have to get down there,” said Siegfried, his voice in a panic.

“Well, no question of that,” said Sophitia. But then her brow raised, her gaze upon the giant axeman.

“No, listen to me!” snapped Siegfried. “That is a vessel of countless souls. It is exactly what the Soul Edge craves. We _cannot_ let him have it.”

“I’m on it,” said Taki’s voice. One blink later, and she had vanished.

Siegfried blinked, and before he could say anything, Taki had vanished.

_Am I getting slower or just…_

The Azure Knight swung across the crowd, the sword’s tip just reaching front line, glowing like a comet. Spears broke under its edge, as more bodies fell to the ever growing, bloodied pile of limbs and carcasses at the Knight’s feet.

One of the survivors turned away and fled, and, quickly, the rest of them, these worshippers of war, followed suit. Spears and swords clattered upon the floor, as men in green robes tripped over each other, toward Siegfried and whatever entrance laid opened. Like a stone in a river, Astoroth stood, scoffing at the fleeing, green robed rats around him.

“Fine, you worthless cowards!” shouted Astaroth, brushing a hand out, knocking two of the cultists out of his way and into a seemingly bottomless ditch. “Let a true warrior face him!”

Sword in hand, Siegfried dodged through the crowd, shoving away one panicked face after another, while trying to keep his eye on the suit of armor he once wore. As he kept pushing through the crowd, he toyed with the idea that, maybe, just another unfortunate man who came across the sword after his departure. Besides, that unfortunate man was once himself, looking over the remains of some pirate before the sword dug its fangs into his wrists.

But as he kept his eye on the Azure Knight, he watched him looked to Astaroth, twirling what is effectively a greatsword in his hand, in a manner the mercenary had done in the past to show off. There was no mistaking that gesture; he did that all the time when he trained.

_Just what in the fires of Hell is going on!?_

Further and further, they shuffled through the crowd. From where Siegfried was, he watched as the Azure Knight, whoever this was, turned his glowing gaze to Astaroth. Hefting his axe, the giant glared back.

“Coulda sworn I saw you already!” shouted Astaroth. “But it looks like you’re not the talker you used to be!”

_“Souls…”_ spoke Siegfried’s own voice out of the Azure Knight’s lips.

Astaroth ran at the suit of armor, axe raised and eyes glaring. The knight raised the broken Soul Edge, over his head, both gripping the hilt in hand and claw. Then a small arc of smoke flew from one of the walls, landing in a rocky, solid clank against the ground between them.

Fire erupted with the familiar sound of thunder just in front of the giant, sending him back and making him kneel. Cursing, Astaroth dusted the fire off with his left hand and glaring about the room.

_“Who was that!?”_ he shouted, eyes like fire and axe at the ready.

And it was then, that the last of the cultists were finally passed them. The Azure Knight turned his eyes to Siegfried. The mercenary glared back, reminded of the horrors he had seen, the empty promises and the blood that soaked the halls of Ostrheinsburg.

_“Siegfried!”_ shouted Sophitia.

But the mercenary would not stop. With his sword raised, he sprinted at the knight, his eyes fixed upon his neck and his heart starving for revenge. And upward the knight raised Soul Edge, stopping the greatsword just short of his helmet, but falling to one knee. Small coils of violet lightning crackled along the cursed blade, and, with a great howl, the Knight returned to his feet, pushing the greatsword away as if a feather.

Never had these halls, even under the gaze of Ares, heard steel collide like the storm between this cursed man and this cursed suit of armor. Every swing and every thrust, the Azure Knight matched in equal measure. A newfound hatred coursed through the mercenary’s veins, battle cries accompanying the songs of old heroes echoing in his mind. But even the fiercest verse was but a whisper to the percussion of their blades. This creature of his own making, after countless battles from within, would taste true steel, his true blade.

But pains were beginning to set in, even in Siegfried’s own fury. For all of Soul Edge’s empty promises, it seldom let its wielder tire so easily. The mercenary knew this battle needed to end quickly, but the creature, whoever this was, swung this sword with nearly the lightness of a rapier.

And then fate granted Siegfried one opening, as the entire world seem to freeze in place before his eyes. With one last desperate swing, he kept his gaze upon his unprotected helmet, his sword coming in like a guillotine.

The Azure Knight lifted Soul Edge, sending Requiem upward, its edge colliding with the horn of his helmet, casting it aside. As the mercenary turned about, Siegfried just saw the blade of Soul Edge diving for his throat.

Siegfried lifted his sword and watched helpless as the flat of the blade buckled and broke under the cursed blade’s jagged edge. The mercenary looked up the length of Soul Edge, into the eyes off…

Long white hair poured down upon the pauldrons of the blue armor, under which burning red-violet eyes glared down over a manic smile. Torchlight flickered upon his darkened, burnt skin.

But there was no mistaking it. Aside from charred flesh and white hair, this was a spitting image of the face that a rare mirror had shown him in the past. He opened his mouth as though ready to dine, lifting his sword keeping his eyes fixed back into the gaze of the mercenary. The sword came down—

Siegfried’s ears rang as the sword came down upon the shield of Sophitia. Sword in hand, she kneeled just before him, gritting her teeth, arm under the weight of the cursed sword.

“Stand back!” she cursed. “This is not the first Soul Edge I’ve faced!”

Twisting her body, she shoved the cursed blade aside, swinging her sword. The Knight stepped back, dragging his blade back, turning and swinging the Soul Edge back at her once more. Bracing her feet, she met the blade with her shield once more, shouting not in agony but in a battle fury even Siegfried had seldom seen. Shield and sword clashed, their own song of battle echoing through the halls. But the Azure Knight was losing ground, his burned face glaring and gritting his teeth.

As Siegfried returning to his feet, he only then realized he was sitting at the foot of the armed statue, facing the center of the room. The Knight had been stepping back, closer and closer to the small crater from the explosion before.

Just beyond them, Astaroth flayed his arms, a stray pillar buckling against the blade of his axe, and it took the mercenary a second to realize that Taki’s arms were wrapped around his throat. Glowing in front of giant’s eyes was the hunter’s dagger, and at his feet, stood the lizardman, his shield raised and his own small axe at the ready.

The giant bent himself over, giving Taki a chance to lift her blade, its point like a fang poised to strike. And down it went like the blade of Damocles, into the back of his neck.

With a shout, Astaroth reached up, grabbing Taki’s arm and throwing her to the ground. In a heap, she landed on her back, barely keeping her head away from the stone as she coughed. On his knees and his eyes aglow, Astaroth lifted his axe.

Siegfried was already on his feet, broken sword in hand and sprinting toward him. But so was the lizardman. The axe came down, embedding itself into the creature’s shield and forcing the lizardman’s back on top of Taki, leaving it hissing and struggling.

But Astaroth could not quite get his axe free, and only looked up just in time to see the edge of Siegfried’s broken sword. The mercenary shouted, digging the remnants of his sword into its eye. As the giant cried out, Siegfried then spun around, and brought the heavy edge onto his arm, splitting it in two.

The giant roll away, his arm peeling away from the last tendons from his closed hand, leaving its death-grip upon the haft of the axe. A million voices, a million familiar agonies from an unheard of depth of Hell, bellowed from Astaroth’s throat as he laid there, legs still and off-red ichor pouring from the stump of his arm and the remnants of his eye.

Siegfried turned, spotting the Azure Knight catch itself from falling with its clawed hand. Sophitia stood over him, catching her breath as she kept her shield raised and sword at the ready. Then, the terrible matching face of the Azure Knight turned and glared upon the fallen construct. Giving no more heed to Sophitia, her blade poised and ready to strike, the Knight swung his body around, and, with his clawed arm, threw the fractured Soul Edge. Spinning through the air, the broken sword sailed through the air, closing in on Astaroth’s pounding heart.

Siegfried forced his legs into motion, ignoring every sore muscle, but he knew he was too late. With a great crack, the blade sank into the construct’s chest, the great eye of Soul Edge shuddering within.

Siegfried looked to the Knight just as the sword of Sophitia sunk through its back and out his breastplate. He gritted his teeth from the blow. But then he smiled.

“You do not get it, woman,” said the Azure Knight. With his clawed hand, he backhanded her shield, pushing Sophitia away from her sword. With the other hand, he tore the sword from his chest, and cast it upon the floor with a clatter.

A red-violet coil sparked between the knight and the Soul Edge, and the manic smile of the Azure Knight only grew wider.

“I am not a wielder of Soul Edge,” he said. “I _am_ Soul Edge!”

The faint coil burned into a crackling storm and quickly erupted into the brightness of a thousand suns. Faint shadows of warriors poured from the body of Astaroth, some of gladiators, some of crusaders, many tribesman, many with curved blades that Siegfried had only ever heard about, and many, many more from eras long forgotten, stories long lost. And into the armor of the Azure Knight they went, dragged off like the many sacrifices that Siegfried was far too familiar with.

And the remaining eye of Astaroth, that embodiment of war, faded.

Light filled into the cracks of Soul Edge, until they cooled into refined steel. A fleshy lid opened, the familiar eye staring out, glaring at Siegfried, beckoning him once more.

As though pulled by a rope, the Soul Edge escaped the giant’s remains before the hilt landed in the Azure Knight’s hand. With a metallic snap, the Knight’s gauntlet broke off, spikes protruding from its wrist and elbow. Up the arm, Siegfried searched, and into a great toothy grin he stared, framed by blood red wings, spreading and rising from the Knight’s back.

Forcing himself onto his feet again, Siegfried raised his broken sword, worn and weary, and ran at the abomination wearing his face. With a smile, the Azure Knight swung out the Soul Edge, catching the broken blade with his own and casting it out of Siegfried’s hands.

Just as the Azure Knight lifted his blade once more, the shield of Sophitia met the creature’s side. But the Knight stood his ground. A great glow erupted in his clawed hand, and Siegfried found himself lifted from his feet and hurled through the air, until his back met a stone wall like a club.

As his vision blurred, he found Sophitia on the floor. With a cough, she pushed herself onto her feet, sword and shield still in her hands. The Azure Knight looked about, as though not sure what to feed on next, when the sounds of steps reached Siegfried’s ears. He followed the Knight’s glare.

Kilik stood there, readying his staff, Xianghua her sword and Maxi his nunchuku. Just behind them, Salia and the rest of Schwarzwind stood at the ready. But in their leader’s eyes, her battle ready glare turned to fear.

_No…_

But the Azure Knight reeled back, stepping back from the monk, eyes wide with its own dread.

“I have what I came for,” said the Knight. It flapped its blood red wings, propelling it into the air, its pauldron falling off and striking the ground. And higher it went, toward the rocks and the last thing Siegfried recalled was the sound of crashing rocks.

From his balcony, Zasalamel watched as a great winged being appeared out of a dust cloud upon a nearby mountain. He was taken aback at first, but he could not mistake the violet-red glow about him for anything else. Smiling, the sorcerer could on help but laugh.

_You are full of surprises, old blade._

Zasalamel was already aware how much more powerful the being had become. It was a little more than necessary for his own purposes, but it will only make the process easier. He knew not how the creature would react once the spell is over, but that was for another fool to deal with.

And there was still time needed, and the time to begin was now. He glared upon the entangled blades, as he lifted a hand, white light emanating between his fingers. The circles have already been drawn around the altar, and now that the Soul Edge’s phantom was approaching…

Before him, the entanglement of Soul Edge and Soul Calibur began to shake, reverberating upon the stone surface and clattering like several dropped swords. From the wound of the cursed blade, a great pillar of violet-red light erupted into the sky.

_Almost there… Two more days…_


	6. A Gaze into the Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael begins his march, as Siegfried is confronted by Salia.

And so that light shined down upon the Alps, upon the plains of Northern Italy, upon the Black Forest of the Holy Roman Empire.

And down the light went on upon the Castle of Lord Vogel. Glowing eyes of armored men, farmers and servants, matching the pillar of light, turned to face it, enthralled by this almost as much as the hold of their new master.

Raphael Sorel’s hand stopped his goblet just short of his lips to gaze upon the sky. His thirst was forgotten, for his hunger had turned elsewhere. His fangs flashed in his grin, before he allowed himself a small touch of laughter.

_It appears that cursed fortune smiles upon me yet again._

So many plans had run through his mind since the moment he felt the newly grown teeth in his maw. And now, all of them, were dashed away, for his tiresome search would be cut short. He knew what awaited him from atop the Alps, and in his heart he felt the same bloodlust from the day the Soul Edge had nearly taken him.

Casting his glass away, giving little heed to the shattering upon the stone floor, he turned to two of his thralls, both dressed in the colors of the former Lord Vogel. The second his gaze was upon them, they straightened themselves with an echoing clink of their armor.

“Gentlemen,” said Raphael. “Ready our soldiers. We wait not a moment longer!”

Silently, they gave a bow, before marching through the halls. Raphael followed, but turned toward the throne, its cloth still stained red. Again, his smile returned.

_Insolent wretch…_

Standing upon the royal seat and digging into the seat was a rapier, its full steel guard glinting in the nearby torchlight, its slender blade nearly spotless. Raphael reached for it. Its hilt felt right in his hand, and, after a few thrusts, the lightness of it took him aback.

_Finely made. Miss the old one, but it served its purpose._

Sheathing the blade, Raphael turned about and made his way through the castle. Nearly every hall, it seemed, held a small monument, a suit of armor from less enlightened days and names of family. All of which, of course, ended with Vogel’s death, all that history, all that pomp and celebration to be undone by one man. How meaningless it all seemed. Not that Raphael would change his ways of course, for he still appreciated the fresh clothing, fit for a king, upon his body.

But the time of kings and emperors would end soon. Every step brought his imagination to new turns. A place for himself and his beloved daughter, the only untouched human on earth worthy of his trust. Let the borders run worldwide, he mused, and have a small Rome, a city without miles of plains surrounded by his endless army.

_Our home. Our paradise._

But he must hurry. He pondered when the letter would have reached Amy. Things needed to be ready.

Raphael threw the doors of the castle open. In rows within the courtyard his army stood, rows of their spears glinting in the terrible light upon the Alps. All of their glowing eyes were upon him, like puppets awaiting the pull of their strings.

“It would appear our search is over!” Raphael had called out to them. “The Soul Edge awaits us. Whosesoever holds it now, that hand shall be severed! And then we keep marching until Rome, Iberia and all lands from dawn to dusk are ours!”

And so the army marched, dozens of steel clad feet stepped upon the stone road like steel battle drums. Raphael’s grin returned once more as he watched his pawns go forth.

_Vengeance. Justice. All before me._

“He’s awake,” Siegfried heard Landau’s voice say.

The mercenary coughed out as his vision began to clear. At first, he thought the great statue ahead of him was that war god that watched their battle. But quickly he realized that it lacked the helmet, and over his head, in place of a spear, he held a great hammer. About him, detritus lay, some still snow covered, some not.

Just in front of the statue, Sophitia kneeled on both knees. Standing limply by her side, Taki placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, but keeping her eyes away from this deity. Kilik and his companions were nowhere to be found. The better part of Schwarzwind milled about, looking over their weapons. Siegfried looked to Landau, but he kept his eyes fixed on a point on the floor.

Siegfried’s head and back throbbed, and he was soon aware of the sound of steel against stone. Salia glared at the sword in her hand as the whet stone dragged up the length of the blade once more.

“Salia,” uttered Siegfried. “What happened—?”

Another swipe of the stone sent by, somehow louder than the rest.

Siegfried cursed under his breath. “I know that look,” he spoke again. “And we both know what is coming next.”

She stood to her feet, eyes gazing directly into his, her blade sharpened and burning under the firelight.

“What in the hell did we see right there?” she said. “No more secrets, no more half-truths!”

At the edge of his vision, he could see Landau standing by. To his right, toward a tall, rocky entryway, he spotted Kilik and his own company stepping forward, stopping in their tracks when the question echoed through this cavern.

Siegfried did not stand, but he adjusted his posture.

“That last job we had,” said Siegfried.

“Those traitors,” said Salia. “What about—”

“No,” said Siegfried.

Salia raised her brow.

“My father was in that company,” he went on. “I… I took his head…”

The words felt like burning lead in his mouth. Salia blinked as though dashed with water, still keeping her posture.

“I never told you,” Siegfried went on. “I could not face that truth… And then I lost myself entirely.”

Salia shook her head. “You took up Soul Edge?”

Siegfried gritted his teeth. “No, not immediately. Somehow, like a fool, I told myself that Soul Edge had committed the deed, had taken my father away. I had betrayed men, I had soaked myself in blood just to find that cursed blade.”

Siegfried looked up into her eyes again. “And… And then I found it. And then I caused… all of this.”

Salia’s lips quivered in silent words, her face pale and eyes reddened. Siegfried, who had known all of these crimes, who had looked back on his life in complete sobriety simply sat there, no more words to utter, no more sins to confess.

She swung out her torchlit blade, pointing the tip just inches from his throat. Still, Siegfried did not budge. It was, after all, yet another pointed fury wishing to lay claim on his head.

“We lost you,” said Salia, a demon of a rage held back by ever thinning bonds. “For three years, we fought against wave after wave of the Malfested, watched villages burn, watch the wills of many friends warped by a simple touch, all the while never being able to come close to that accursed castle. And you…”

She inched her closer, the tip shaking.

“ _You,_ ” she said, “were at the center of all of it. _Why!?_ ”

“It took hold of me,” said Siegfried. “Took hold of the worst of my soul. It promised to bring my father back and…”

“All those lives lost,” said Salia, teeth flashing, “for the sake of undoing _one murder!?”_

“If you’re going to kill me,” said Siegfried, clenching a fist, “you’d best do it now. I’m done anyway. The Azure Knight is stronger now than he had ever been, all from my failed attempts at stopping him, unable to stop my own sins from destroying others.”

Siegfried caught the blade, feeling the edge cut into his palm. Blood dripped down his wrist and the tip of the blade.

_Avenge me…_

_“That’s enough!”_ shouted Kilik, gripping Salia’s arm. “Stay your sword.”

“ _Don’t take pity on me_ ,” growled Siegfried, still gripping the blade.

_“You heard him!”_ shouted Salia, tears finally breaking from her eyes. _“You heard every confession!”_

“ _Enough!_ ” shouted Kilik once more. “Siegfried! Let go of the blade!”

Siegfried sighed. “Fine.”

With a faint flick of his wrist, the blade was cast from his face and out of Salia’s grip. As the steel clattered on the stone floor, Siegfried and Salia glared into each other’s eyes once more, as mercenary’s heart pounding through his own chest.

“We have a problem,” said Maxi. “Some pillar of light going on at one of the nearby mountaintops. To the west.”

Salia blinked, finally taking her eyes off of Siegfried and gazing at Kilik.

“Further into the Alps?” she said.

“If it’s the same mountain range,” said Maxi again, with a shrug. “That… winged thing is heading straight for it.”

Salia pressed her lips together.

“Then we know where to go,” she said. “But we will need some reinforcements.”

“We can’t delay much further,” said Xianghua.

“It won’t be far,” said Salia. “I… did hear a few more mercenaries were dwelling nearby.”

“You go ahead,” said Kilik. “We will see if there’s anything we can find in here.”

Salia raised a brow.

The monk shrugged. “We’ll need anything we can find, and I imagine there’s something here that might be of use.”

At first looking to argue, the mercenary leader instead gave a nod.

_“Schwarzwind!”_ she shouted. “Off to Regenberg!”

Siegfried did not get so much as another glance from Salia, as she led the mercenaries out of the cave and back toward the road. All were silent, as the march went on, Kilik and his companions watching them empty out of the stone hall.

It was only until after the last was out of sight did Siegfried push himself sluggishly to his feet. Pain from the fight before finally set in, but it mattered little to him. With nothing but curiosity guiding him, he stepped toward the statue and just let his feet guide him along.

“Siegfried?” asked Kilik.

“Don’t mind me,” said the mercenary, shambling through the detritus. “I’ll just find a hole to rot in.”

_Guide me…_

Sophitia stood to her feet, gazing up at Hephaestus. It was even smaller than she first imagined, just a foot over herself, but she supposed it was necessary in order for the left hand to reach the altar. So empty that hand felt, so incomplete the image seemed.

By her side, Taki stretched, her entire body popping and cracking. The warrior turned to her and watched her wince with her eyes staring out. And just behind her, the lizardman was laid out, arm and chest bandaged in bloodied cloth, its breathing weakened, but its eyes were finally opened.

Then it turned its head toward her, and, with a weak arm, pointed to her. Raising her brow, she walked toward it. Gently, she knelt by his side.

“Who are you?” she asked.

In answer, it pointed to her shield, laid out against a rock and over her sword. It was one of many, when she first set out to destroy the Soul Edge, but very few made the journey back home. Most of the shields were accounted for, but…

Then an old memory came to her. There was one warrior, one champion, who they did not see fall in battle. He was a Spartan, in fact. Their old training was long dead, but he was ever eager. But her company ran into a sandstorm in Egypt, taking this Spartan with it.

This was impossible; that he would have survived this long, no contact, and no trace. But the words, the name, poured out of her lips on their own.

“Aeon… Calcos?”

In reply, the lizardman let its head lay on the ground, eye lids quivering as though tears were trying to escape. But they no longer had a way out, leaving Sophitia with this shaking, twisted image of sorrow. She reached for his hand, scaly and cold to the touch. His hand bit into her skin, but the pain meant nothing to her, nothing next to her wildest imaginations of what he had seen, had felt and what he lived through.

“Aeon,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “If we could have found you…”

Aeon shook his head, before gazing into her eyes, the long mouth curling up into the closest thing he could muster into a smile. Though she could feel his strength ebbing, she could still feel that same grip in his hand as she did years ago. How long had it been since he heard his name? Had it really been since that godforsaken desert?

“We will bring you home,” said Sophitia, doing nothing to stop her tears from pouring upon the stone floor. “All of Sparta will see your pyre! I—”

He shook his head once more, breathing growing weaker. Pressing his elbows against the floor, he forced himself up, only to point past her. Following with her gaze, she looked upon the just past the statue of Hephaestus.

But then a final, weakened breath escaped Aeon’s throat, his grip tightening once more before loosening one final time. By the time Sophitia turned her gaze, Aeon’s face was still, staring out into nothing. Sophitia gave his hand one last squeeze before standing to her feet once more.  
Taki opened her mouth as though to speak, but instead she stepped out of Sophitia’s way as the warrior marched just past the altar. And it was then, behind Hephaestus that a glint had caught her eye. Arranged on the floor was a suit of armor, old and rusted, of a time and land far from her own. But the collection was complete nonetheless, and cared for with what looked like limited means.

Laid beside it was a great sword, worn and starting to see rust. Down the flat were a series of runes, nothing like the Greek she grew up with or even of the characters of what she had seen in this land. Well, not on any church or pub she had stopped in along the way.

“I can’t read it,” said Taki.

“Nor can I,” said Sophitia. “Must be those runes I heard of. Of the Norsemen up north.”

She shook her head.

“All this time,” the warrior went on, “Aeon had left these offerings.”

And, again, Taki went silent.

But from within Sophitia, her heart pounded anew. She stepped around the body of Hephaestus until she stood right in front of him, and looked the statue in its cold, unmoving eyes.

“ _Hephaestus!”_ she shouted. “We _both_ know that my journey is not done here!”

Sophitia thrusted a hand toward her fallen friend.

“Even in this twisted form,” she went on, “he beckoned for your guidance. Is this how he is repaid?”

Silence met her.

“An abomination of steel still plagues us,” Sophitia said. “And—”

In the torchlight, a small glint caught her eye. Ceasing her words, she blinked, her tears cleared away, and the glint over the Altar returned to her. She reached out her hand, and a feather fell gently upon her palm. Warm it was in her hand, and she quickly realized that the light upon it came from its fiery red fibers.

_A phoenix feather?_

“Lay the armor and sword upon my altar,” said a rough, wizened voice.

It was a voice that Sophitia had not heard since the day the fractured pieces of Soul Edge dug into her skin.

“But these are not the only things in need of restoration,” said the voice once more. “And the battle ahead is in need of as many blades as your company can wield at once.”

She held onto the phoenix feather delicately in her hand, looked upon to Hephaestus once more and nodded.

“Taki!” she said, turning to the demon hunter.

Taki shook, startled.

Sophitia looked about, until her gaze landed upon Kilik, stepping into an alcove, away from the shrine itself, but deeper into the mountain.

“Lay the pieces of the armor and the sword on the shrine,” commanded Sophitia. She looked into Taki’s brown eyes under her lifted brow. “… Please.”

“Why…? What…?” said Taki, glancing at the armor. After a moment, she sighed and shrugged.

“Alright,” said the demon hunter, watching Sophitia run toward the alcove. “Alright, fine, I won’t ask… Where are you going?”

“Finding someone to wear it!”

Siegfried had wandered down a rocky hall, untouched, despite the nearby shrine. His steps ended as he came across the edge of the path, breaking off into a deep chasm below. As he stared down, his gaze could not begin to reach the bottom of this cavern.

It was not that his crimes were much of a secret. Many men lifted blades seeking to carve vengeance from his hide, and every time he defended himself, another soul would be lost to his crimes. But somewhere in his heart, he had hoped that perhaps Schwarzwind would take him back. Was it naïve to hope, especially after all that had transpired?

How far would he have to travel to get away? Would that even be enough? He knew his nightmares would never disappear. He had seen too much blood, heard too many screams and felt too much pain to ever let this go. Still, he looked down the chasm, into a Hell shrouded in darkness.

“Siegfried.”

The mercenary turned to see Kilik, staff in his hand, but with little more than a relaxed grip. But his posture was straight and tall, the monk looking at him as though awaiting an answer to a question he never asked.

_Not that he really needed to._

“You saw and you heard,” said Siegfried. “And you should damn well recall our duel.”

The monk nodded.

“You do not seem to begrudge that fact,” said Kilik.

Siegfried shook his head. “Against a madman with a sword? Frankly, whether it was through luck or mercy, by rights I should be dead.”

“I should have killed you?”

Siegfried scoffed. “Any reason why you _shouldn’t_ have?”

The mercenary’s words echoed over the chasm as the monk hesitated to answer. Pulled at Siegfried was that terrible limbo, that strange urge to jump. But he kept his gaze on Kilik.

“What happened after that battle?” asked Kilik.

Siegfried cursed. “Oh, what does it matter?”

But Kilik continued to stare.

The mercenary sighed. “Fine. Soulcalibur never left me,” he said. “Nor did the Soul Edge. And while sword after sword came after my head, I wrestled with that accursed blade until I found myself in enraptured once again.”

The monk quirked a brow. “There was no news,” he said, “of the Azure Knight returning until now.”

“Only because it needed to recover,” said Siegfried. “It wanted to restore itself, but it was not what it once was. Then…”

Siegfried strained his memory, for all was still like a half forgotten dream.

“Someone must have attacked me,” he said. “His sword cut into the eye and its hold finally weakened. Then I plunged the Soulcalibur into its eye, and left them both in that accursed castle, along with that twice cursed armor.”

Siegfried gave a woeful sigh.

“And now here we are,” said the mercenary. “Hunting the same madman.”

The monk gritted his teeth, and for the first time, Siegfried saw discomfort in his otherwise serene expression.

“You are not the only one… who lost himself.”

Kilik reached up and held a small, ocean colored necklace hanging from his neck.

“Madness took me,” said Kilik, leaning against the wall of the alcove. “And before I knew what was going on, all at the monastery were slaughter and their blood was on my own hands. This small stone is one of the few things keeping my mind and body as one. And every time I must push this staff to its limits, I risk that madness all over again.

“I was fortunate,” Kilik went on a smile returning to his face. “I found a master of arms to take me in, to teach me, to bring my mind at ease despite the chaos within me. I stumbled upon knowledge and techniques I could master.”

And only then did it finally hammer home how lonely Siegfried had been. It was self-inflicted, of course, both before and after he took up Soul Edge. And while he felt that it was deserved, what was his plan? He did not search for knowledge, exactly. Instead, he had no choice but to use only his muscle and will to release himself.

But if there _was_ an easier way for him to go, surely he would have used it. And he had no one. He was a monster in the eyes who all who knew him and what he did. Save as many people as he could or perform heroic deeds on par with Beowulf himself and there would still be no way out aside from lying. And those lies were paper thin, torn by the faintest winds.

There, in that lonely cave, was a man, the first man, to know what he had done and was willing to listen. Taking a deep breath, he stepped away from the chasm, facing Kilik fully.

“But…” said Siegfried. “But how do you forgive such endless slaughter?”

“It was not your doing,” said Kilik.

“I took up that blade,” Siegfried growled.

“Then why did you fight back?”

“I…” said the mercenary, starting a sentence that never ended.

“Then I’ll tell you,” said Kilik. “Because you are not the Azure Knight.”

Siegfried clenched his fist.

“This kind of power twists you,” said the monk. “It turns you into a beast, a parasite, for its own purposes. Like it did me.”

The mercenary glared. “Then why did I take up the blade!?”

Kilik stood straight.

“Because you were lost,” he said. “And the lost are always the favorite targets of those who desire control.”

Siegfried let his hand relax.

“The people Soul Edge had destroyed through your hand,” said Kilik, a touch of sorrow in his own voice, “cannot forgive. And I doubt they would, even if they could open their mouths and absolve you for all wrong doings. Nor will their families. But that is only because they do not know the entire story.”

“They wouldn’t listen to it,” said Siegfried.

“No,” said the monk, “but that does not change the truth. And that truth is that both you and I have fought against Soul Edge when it was our choice.”

Siegfried drew up his posture.

“Now, more than ever,” Kilik went on, “we need everyone who has fought the Soul Edge and lived.”

Kilik clutched his necklace.

“We need hearts that had returned from the abyss.”

A faint cold air from the chasm felt its way down Siegfried’s back. But its beckoning rang hollow. Death awaited him, whether it was from the vengeance of villagers or from the terrible eye of Soul Edge.

But the worst parasite of them all, his own secrecy, his need to hide, vanished, a cold weight lifted from his back. In the midst of his own tragedy, the vengeance at his heels and the blood on his hands, a hairline fracture cut into his fears. Hope? Siegfried could not quite give the word any meaning. Yet, the fractured opened into a path, and the way forward was clear.

_You have no right to live._

He had every right to fight.

_Soul Edge did not kill your father._

It had nearly destroyed himself.

_This is not your fight._

Running would not save him.

_Avenge me—_

Like a battering ram, he sent his fist through one of the nearby stalagmites, and, like a tower of sand, it shattered instantly. Small rocks scattered into the subterranean ditch, the only offering the mercenary had for the deep. His heart pounded and his hands shook with a vigor it had not felt in years.

Mourning and sorrow would have to wait; they were but old, half sharpened swords to his enemies. He let his anger pour from every vessel in his body through every limb, his mind and his heart. Siegfried would have vengeance. Not for his father, but for the strings Soul Edge tied to his very being. For the carnage he was forced to watch, for the countless dead, and for the scar it left upon him.

“Stare into the abyss long enough,” said Siegfried, flashing his teeth, “and you’ll know where to strike.”

Kilik looked at him with widened eyes, but gave him a nod.

“We’ll need to find you a new sword.”

_Damn it!_

“It’s going to take more than steel to face Soul Edge,” Siegfried had to confess, shaking the impact from his hand. “You and Sophitia seem armed well enough but…”

Footsteps echoed through the rocky hall. Kilik turned around, just as Siegfried spotted the Greek warrior stepping through alcove. Even through the dim light, the mercenary could see her smiling brightly, as though she found a treasure somewhere.

“Siegfried?” she asked.

“I’m… alright,” said the mercenary. “I need to arm myself somehow.”

Sophitia let out a laugh.

“I thought so…”

The mercenary raised a brow, as Kilik blinked.

“Just…” said Sophitia with a sigh, turning back down the path. “Just follow me. Trust me?”

Siegfried could not help but smile.

“Of course.”


	7. Hammer of the Phoenix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siegfried consults Hephaestus. Meanwhile, Salia seeks reinforcements.

Following Sophitia out of the grotto, he gazed upon the hammer wielding figure before him. At the figure’s other hand upon the altar, a suit of armor lay, rusted and worn with an equally used sword just beside it.

And already, as he stepped closer, his heart began to sink. The mercenary was in no position to complain ever again for as long as he lived, but he knew his way around armor and weapons, and, more importantly, when they’ve lost their use.

_This’ll peel off of me before I step out of this hall…_

“I know, it doesn’t look like much,” said Sophitia, her gaze upon the armaments. “It just… needs a little work.”

“We have time to restore this?” asked Siegfried.

“We may not,” said the warrior, as she opened her hand to the statue. “But Hephaestus has all the time in the world.”

“I do not mean to sound…”

Then his words trailed off, as he stared at the weapon more closely. It was a suitable greatsword to him, surely, but then he discovered the runes running up the flat of the blade. It was not a language that he grew up with, but he recalled some notes from an old friend, one who knew myths among the Black Forest and elsewhere. While he could not read them, he still recognize some notes he found in his library. And it was from a story he always loved, always wanted retold again and again.

“Gram,” Siegfried uttered.

Sophitia blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“This is Gram,” said the mercenary, reaching for the hilt, but never daring to touch it. “This is the sword of Sigurd, a slayer of dragons. Where…?”

“I…” said Sophitia, eyes drifting off to behind the statue. “It was just… there…”

“I… no,” said Siegfried, hand shaking. “I couldn’t possibly take this up. I…”

_“Siegfried Schtauffen!”_

The wizened voice nearly knocked the mercenary off of his feet. Shaking his head, he set his gaze upon the statue’s bearded face. He knew it was still, but somehow he felt eyes upon him.

“Who…?” uttered Siegfried.

“You are Siegfried Schtauffen,” said the voice once more, and eyes of the figure now glowed. “Son of Frederick Schtauffen.”

“I…” said Siegfried, feeling his mouth drying. “I… Yes. I am.”

“You seem to have a great need,” said the figure. “Of armor, of a weapons meant to slay beyond flesh and beyond man.”

“… Yes,” said the mercenary. “Yes… But Gram?”

“Yes…” said the figure. “I recall the bending of its steel, this child of hammer and fire. One of many. Very few are granted a name, and fewer are worthy of it. But, like the armor before me, it is in need of new life, to be free of rust. All it needs is a willing soul, a willing hand…”

_“No!”_ shouted Siegfried. His own voice echoed back at him.

“Siegfried!” called Sophitia. “You do not…”

Siegfried shook his head. “You ask for life to restore life?”

The mercenary looked up at the statue.

“I have served such a parasite before,” said Siegfried. “And if you want another worshiper on his knees, you will not have it. I damn well want to destroy Soul Edge, but I will not become a husk again, not another puppet. And if I’m going to die, I will die by my own accord!”

In the midst of his echoing voice, laughter reached Siegfried’s ears.

“Nor will I ask,” said the figure.

By his feet, Siegfried heard steel strike stone. He looked down, and a hammer laid before him. Hesitantly, he picked it up, feeling the smith hammer heavy in his hand.

“Many ages I have seen come and go,” said Hephaestus, “and many creations have the hands of men wrought. And after every forgotten age, another comes to bury it, all while harvesting the very stone, the very metal, of their tomb.”

Behind the figure’s voice, Siegfried swore he heard the banging of a hammer. Or were they several?

“And, still,” the figure went on, “even with my name all but removed from the canon of this world, I have given my blessing to every length of steel, of copper and all that Mother Gaia had granted to her children. For though it saddens me to watch a people lose their way, the gift must be granted for the future, for, perhaps, better men and women to see cities grow, to see my creations harvest wheat and build ships. All until my steel finds its tomb in the ground, and through Gaia’s hearth made ready to harvest yet again.”

The hammers in the distance beyond Siegfried’s eyes grew louder in their drum like pattern, and soon the chants of long forgotten men joined in this music of labor. He gazed upon the armor, and swore that some of the rust was missing.

“But Soul Edge had never seen rest,” the figure went on, “and it carried with it the old blood lust of ages beyond ages. Too many battles it had seen, and now the vengeful hunger of wielder had run through its every fiber as though Ares himself possessed it. Not only does it bring pain, but every plague, every battle and every act of vengeance it had seen until it knew nothing but blood.

“Yet,” he went on, “this, too, must finally end. Blind loyalty to even less insightful tyrants, the cycle of vengeance, and this vampiric lust of ages the living was never meant to see must be shattered.”

Siegfried’s grip upon the hammer tightened, as the clash of steel and chanting around him grew deafening.

“Siegfried Schtauffen,” said the voice once more, calling out as though lightyears away, “I charge you not with vengeance, not with a fool zealot’s loyalty or to bend a knee to anyone beyond your will. I charge you to bring a closing chapter to this endless story, to put an end to a blade my faithful smiths inadvertently brought upon this world, and remove this mark of my work and close shut this open wound upon humanity. I charge you to bring a new stage of history!”

“I will,” said Siegfried, fingers tingling as his heart joined the chanting smiths around him. “This blade has one more dragon to slay.”

“Child of Hellas!” called the figure. “Bring forth the feather!”

Nodding her head, Sophitia stepped forward and opened her hands, firelight pouring between her fingers. Gently, she stretched out her hand over the altar, placing a fire-red feather upon the suit of armor.

“Dig deep into the lost depths of your being,” said Hephaestus. “Let your pain become Gaia’s hearth, let your anger be the pickaxe upon stone and let your sorrow be the water to set your steel. _Strike!”_

He kept his gaze upon the feather and brought down the hammer. The impact echoed from the altar and filling the hall, and still the chant carried on. With the strike, the armor and sword went red with fire.

_“Strike!”_

Sparks flew from under the hammer once more, and rain down it did until there seemed nothing but fire.

_“Strike!”_

Thunder struck, and the metal set, its fires gone. Down the blade, golden runes glowed, setting its light upon the statue and the steel of the armor. The chant and their metal drums quieted, and soon all was silent.

Siegfried took up the hilt, raising Gram with both hands and letting its golden light reach further out upon the stone and green scales of the cave. Lined in the slot of either pauldron, golden feathers swayed, and neither dent nor scrape was left upon the face of the plates.

Turning around, Siegfried looked to Kilik. Like his companions beside him, the monk stared, before giving a nod. Standing nearby, Sophitia gave a small bow, as Taki, beside her, simply stared.

The mercenary turned to the armor once more, smiling at the straps already replaced and how it seemed to be the perfect size. Or so it seemed, as there was one thing left to do.

“We’ve no time to waste,” said Siegfried, taking one of the greaves in hand. “We have a sword to bury.”

Heishiro Mitsurugi lived his mug, before taking the bitter taste of the western lands to his lips.

“Another job gone and forgotten,” said Arthur, setting his own mug down and adjusting the patch over the remains of his left eye.

“I must admit,” said Mitsurugi, after a few gulps. “This journey did not go as I planned.”

“What was your plan?” asked Arthur.

The ronin paused. “Fair enough. To be honest, things calmed down too much back at home, so I thought travel might bring me a better challenge.”

Standing his own broad sword back up against the wall, Arthur lean back on the wooden bench of the tavern. The barkeep cleaned one of his glasses once more, and soon the tavern was filled was chatter again.

“It didn’t look like much at the job,” said Arthur.

Mitsurugi scoffed. “Another bandit, another fool hoping for easy pay. Not exactly a soldier.”

And the ronin had to admit that perhaps this was a lot of traveling for naught. There were confusing word about this dreaded Azure Knight returning. Or was it struck down already? The castle was already empty, and every rumor seemed to reach him a half-step too late. More training then, for that seemed to be the best he could find.

“Not satisfied?” asked Arthur.

“I’ve faced many in my travels,” said Mitsurugi. “First it was out of the fool idea of finding some perfect sword. Years of training proved I didn’t need it, even if that old musket wound reminds me every now and again.”

Arthur wiped the sweat from his brow, bringing his fingers through his shortened blonde hair.

“Where to now?” he asked.

Just as Mitsurugi opened his mouth, the door was kicked open, bringing the chatter to complete silence. A woman stepped through, donned in armor, red hair pouring down her shoulders as she removed her helmet. Like a hawk, she gazed about the tavern, passing the ronin once or twice before they locked eyes.

Mitsurugi had traveled far and wide, seeking one duel after another. And every time, he learned a little more of what he can read from a simple glance. Even if she was gentle with the door, he knew the woman stepping toward him was not about to mince words or time. She carried her armor like a shirt, weaving between tables as though not even weighed down.

From his home, such an entrance and such an approach would be a grave insult. But he was never nobility, and somewhere in his heart an old kind of excitement set it ablaze. Surefooted, she kept walking toward the swordsman, and didn’t even sit down when she reached the table.

“Are you two those mercenaries coming through?” asked the woman.

Mitsurugi let out a laugh.

“We can’t be the only ones, surely,” said the swordsman. “But we are for hire, depending on the task.”

“What kind of tasks suit you?” she asked.

Pressing his lips together, Mitsurugi paused to choose his words more carefully. Always in the need for money, he had to grow less selective than he would have during his own land’s constant civil war. But there was a desperate air about her that told him that this was more than just a thief robbing some merchant.

“Tell me, good…”

“Salia,” she said. “Salia Olschmidt, leader of Schwarzwind.”

“Your group has a name, then!” Mitsurugi went on. “I have defeated blade, spear and firearm, all with my sword alone. I have traveled from Japan, through the Himalayas, through this empire of yours, and faced bandit, swordmaster, generals and all in between. Tell me, Captain, what challenge do you have for me?”

Salia grinned.

“Soul Edge,” she said.

Mitsurugi scoffed.

“You are not he first to seek it,” he said. “I sought for it myself, but that pirate captain and knight had slipped through my fingers. But the more I heard about it, the more of a world of curses it seemed to be. You are determined, but I would turn away. In fact, I could teach…”

She shook her head. “Not to wield it. To destroy it.”

The swordsman ceased his words.

“The Azure Knight has returned.”

Bullets could not fly upward with the speed Mitsurugi stood. Beside him, Arthur stumbled from his chair, only stopping himself by the palm of his hand. The swordsman grinned, taking up his sword.

“You speak truth?” said Mitsurugi. “He walks again?”

Salia nodded.

Not that the swordsman is immune to trickery, especially after that run in with assassins years back, but he was certain he saw no lie in her eyes.

“Where?” Mitsurugi demanded.

“We will need to plan,” she said. “But up in the Alps. Where exactly is hidden from the foot of the mountains, but we’re certain we know a path. It’s all just a matter of reaching it.”

From her belt, she produced a small bag, the jingle of coin ringing from within.

But Mitsurugi raised a hand.

“After the job is done,” he said. “No point in collecting now.”

With a raised brow and a shrug, she took it back and turned to the door.

“Suit yourself,” said Salia. “Are you ready?”

Mitsurugi grinned.

“Come on, Arthur!” said the swordsman. “This time, we got him where we want him!”

Sophitia adjusted her breastplate, gazing down the hall at Siegfried donning the newly forged armor. Taki leaned against the wall, keeping an eye on the mercenary like a hawk.

“I trust him,” said Sophitia, sheathing her sword.

“I never said I didn’t,” said the demon hunter. “I’m just cautious around murderers.”

Sophitia clenched her teeth.

“Is he one of your lost?” asked Taki. “And not one of your wicked men?”

“If you can’t trust me…”

The hunter smiled.

“I _do,_ ” she said. “I followed you all the way here, didn’t I?”

Taki sighed.

“Just… knowing what he had done,” she went on, “how is he any different from…”

“Cervantes?”

Taki breathed in, but nodded.

“That pirate,” said Sophitia. “He knew too well what he was doing. That is not what I saw when I first came across Siegfried. He was used, dragged through the dirt…”

“Some people,” said Taki, “do not come back from that…”

Sophitia didn’t even realize she placed her hand over that old wound on her stomach until Taki raised her eyebrow. Sighing, the warrior lowered her hand.

“That fight nearly destroyed me,” she said. “Perhaps even worse than that. And twice I had spent nine months carrying a child I prayed slept just far enough from that wound to be born untouched, given a fresh chance.”

“They both came out fine,” reminded Taki.

“But Soul Edge came back,” said Sophitia. “Whether they were untouched or that fiend is waiting for the right day, I will always be weary.”

She turned to eyes to Taki, who took a step back from the gaze.

“I need to know,” Sophitia said. “That, should either of them fall, they _can_ come back.”

Silence hung over them, until Taki nodded.

“I… suppose he hasn’t threatened us yet,” said Taki, gazing after him again. “And I suppose if H—the forgemaster…”

Sophitia raised a brow.

“… had led us this far,” Taki quickly went on, “I can trust him to give the right man armor.”

Sophitia shook her head, grinning.

“Thank you,” she said, turning toward Siegfried. “I’ll go see if he needs a hand.”

One more strap to pull and the vanbrace tightened. Must of have been a sort of miracle, Siegfried mused, that such an old suit of armor would fit him.

_I suppose I did just receive it from a god…_

Somewhere, Siegfried knew that he should be weighed down, from plates so articulate and just the amount of steel upon his body. But this was not his first time in a suit of armor. Pushing the limits of armaments was always his best talent. And as he lifted Gram, feeling its weight once more and how right it all felt, every lesson, every broken bone and all else that he taught himself for all those years returned to him like an old, familiar glove.

_You were lost._

Indeed, Kilik could not have been closer to the truth. And he supposed all young boys were lost, for he did not see seventeen winters by the time he took up Soul Edge. But it no longer mattered. Armed as he was, for the first time in an eternity, he knew where he belonged. That will change, whether he lives or dies on this venture. Siegfried breathed in deep, tasting his new found freedom and basking in this moment for the meager time he had.

“I think Hephaestus had outdone himself.”

Siegfried turned to find Sophitia, still armored and shield tied to her back.

“Not pinching,” said Siegfried, padding one of his pauldrons, “nor can I really feel the weight of it.”

The mercenary grinned.

“Those were hasty words to someone about to grant you a miracle,” said Siegfried, turning to Sophitia again. “But I thank you.”

She smiled.

“If one of us falters,” she said, “we all fall. It was true in Thermopylae, and equally true here.”

“Not just for the armor,” he said. “My mind was in a storm, and you were the first daybreak I had seen in an eternity.”

“You were lost,” said Sophitia. “And drawing a line between the lost and wicked is my duty.”

“Grateful all the same,” said Siegfried, as his gaze wandered to the great opening in the hall. Kilik and Xianghua had stood finally stood from their meditations, Taki had returned, her belt full on those explosives once again, and Maxi simply stood there, keeping his eyes to the outside.

“Let’s finish this then,” said the mercenary. “Just…”

Sophitia lifted her brow.

“If I were to falter once again…”

“No.”

Words failed Siegfried.

“Fall again into the abyss,” said Sophitia, her eyes stern, “and we’ll need you to climb out. Hephaestus did not grant you these arms just to see them fall. We face _one_ Azure Knight, not two. You’ve been given the power to slay dragons; cut yourself loose.”

And no more words needed to be said. This warrior was a gentle soul, but gentle words were not going to help any longer. Tightly, he gripped Gram in his hand as he placed it in its sheath.

_Steel and blood await._

“Let’s track it down, then,” said Siegfried.

“… And then I came across this strange acrobat,” Mitsurugi went on. “Clawed hands. Gave me nightmares for a week!”

Salia sighed, slowly starting to wonder if other mercenaries were in town. Onward, her horse led the way, holding her reins tight. Ahead, up the hill, she spotted Alaric, leaning against a post at the split in the road. Ahead, the road would carry on, through the Black Forest and further west. She wandered her gaze up the short path visible to her heading south, into the mountains and up toward the faint pillar of light in the sky. Before she even began the climb, she could already feel the journey.

Closer they came to the post, Salia, her company, and the two newly acquired mercenaries. Alaric gave her a nod. Then the trot of several horses caught their ears, and all looked down the road to the west. That Greek warrior, Sophitia she recalled, led the way, the hunter holding onto her, sharing the same horse. Right behind her, Kilik and his small company followed.

_Did they leave…?_

Just behind Maxi, one more horse followed, and the only things that gave away the rider were his blue eyes and the scar going into his right cheek. Even during the short time they were reunited, Salia had gotten used to Siegfried’s long, disheveled hair and half torn rags. They fit the way he hunched himself over, giving a shameful look that Salia only understood in their last argument.

With every step of Siegfried’s horse, the shining new plates on his body shook. Swaying in the wood, feathers stood at either pauldron, giving a faint fiery glow upon his face. Looking down the road from under his shortened blonde hair, he sat with a straight posture, reserved with a quiet confidence she had not seen in him before.

_You were at the center of all of it…_

Salia’s heart pounded, her hands clenched tighter on her reins. Once more, phantom screams echoed in her mind, ghostly fire against her skin joining the horror. As he drew closer, she fought every temptation to draw her sword.

_You don’t deserve to ride like…_

“Well, well!” shouted Mitsurugi taking his horse past Salia and glaring at the hunter behind Sophitia. “It’s been awhile, Taki!”

From over the Greek’s shoulder, the hunter glared.

“Not long enough,” said Taki, keeping her glared upon the swordsman. “Captain, I’m afraid you were sorely mistaken.”

_“Taki,”_ Sophitia hissed, pulling back her reins.

_“This man sought the sword before!”_ Taki hissed back. _“He is a liability.”_

“I am well aware,” said Mitsurugi, “of our run-ins before. And I know _why!_ ”

“No one is taking the sword,” said Taki. “Least of all, you!”

“Nor do I want the blasted thing!” said the black haired warrior.

The hunter reached her hand to one of her daggers.

“I’m here to fight,” said Mitsurugi. “And I can’t think of a better challenge! It will be a duel of legend!”

“And why should we trust you?” said Taki.

Mitsurugi reached for his blade. Sophitia responded in kind and, as awkwardly balanced as she was, Taki’s drew her daggers from their sheaths.

“We can settle this right now,” called out Mitsurugi.

Salia did not notice Siegfried’s horse approaching until his sword was drawn and thrusted between Taki and Mitsurugi. Golden runes glowed down the length of the black blade, held still despite its size in Siegfried’s hand. For an agonizingly long moment, all were still as Siegfried’s glaring blue eyes shifted between Taki and Schwarzwind.

While he was unfazed, Mitsurugi did stop his hand, staring at the glowing runes and only then seemed to notice the rest of Sophitia’s own entourage.

“ _That’s enough!”_ shouted Siegfried, a commanding tone Salia had not heard from him since that terrible day. “We will waste no time on duels or bickering until Soul Edge lays shattered!”

“I was only being honest…” said Mitsurugi, removing his hand from the hilt.

Taking a breath, Sophitia moved her hand away from the hilt. Taki, regaining her balance, sheathed her blades, but did not let her gaze leave the swordsman.

“If you _are_ honest,” said Siegfried, looking Mitsurugi in the eye, “you’ll save that fury of yours for that legendary duel ahead.”

Mitsurugi laughed as Siegfried lowered his sword and backed his horse away.

“I like your point there,” said the swordsman, before giving Sophitia a bow. “Forgive me, nearly forgot myself. Name’s Heishiro Mitsurugi.”

“Sophitia Alexandra,” said the warrior with a respectful smile.

“I’ll remember it!” said Mitsurugi, before turning to Salia. “What is our plan, then?”

For a moment, all the mercenary captain could do was stare after Siegfried he brought his horse back. He seemed to intentionally avert his eyes as he backed up, instead looking to Sophitia for his next orders.

It was not the first time Salia watched Siegfried end a small fight before it began. Even before they came up with the name “Schwarzwind”, old, petty rivalries needed to be stamped out. He was not the best at counting, as Salia always took care of the money, but he was always there to relight the spark, to keep everyone focused and, most of all, spirited. And then he vanished. On and on, they fought the malfested and their leaders, and, always, the sword of their founder was missing, leaving an unfillable void.

Finally, Salia shook her head clear, recalling Mitsurugi’s question and looking to Alaric.

“Road’s clear?” the captain asked.

“Clear, but gets buried very quickly,” said Alaric. “From there we’re going to have to feel our way through.”

“Very well,” said Salia. “Well, there’s nowhere to go but up.”

“Agreed,” said Sophitia, letting out a sigh. “We’d best get moving.”

Siegfried held his cloak tightly as dusk fell upon the company. Thankfully, a storm was not upon them, and the wind was light for where they were in the mountains. Every step of the horses dashed a cloud of scattered snow behind them, and every time they crested a hill, another seem to appear out of the ether.

But the Pillar of light still stood, their only compass and guide. Despite what he had seen, and the wild imagination he had grown for himself, he could not begin to picture what is happening up there. A winged image of himself, Soul Edge in hand…

_Surely, he just needs more souls…_

The grunt of another horse awoke him from his thoughts, as he discovered Salia was riding beside him. Sophitia had taken the lead, but he figured that the mercenary captain would have stayed in front. But there she was, by his side, despite everything.

“I… never saw that sword before,” said Salia.

“Decided to talk to me, then?” said Siegfried.

The mercenary captain stopped herself, and then shook her head.

“When you left,” said Salia, “we traveled everywhere we could to find you, taking jobs, some better than others. We figured you were surely trying to find _us_ again.”

“And you finally found me…” said Siegfried, his voice dour.

“Damn it, Siegfried!” she said, clenching her reins. “You brought us together in the _first place._ We were all kids with our sticks and stories and you going on about Sigurd or whatever else that monk told us about. You approached _us_ when forming Schwarzwind. And then you just… disappeared. Was… was it just that sword?”

“No,” said Siegfried.

She turned to him.

“Then what are you?”

“I am _…_ ” Siegfried started, but then stopped himself. “I _was_ a kid, thinking he was a hero slaying dragons. But I could not face what I had become. And the sword milked that like I was cattle.”

She turned her eyes away, closing them, the wind starting to kick up about her red hair.

“Salia,” said Seigfried. “I don’t know what kind of answer you’re looking for…”

Again, there was only silence.

“Just…” said the mercenary, gritting his teeth. “Why are you even speaking to me?”

Salia turned to him, looking at him with reddened eyes.

“Because we want you back,” she said. “Because you, with your father joining the crusades and _us_ as a bunch of urchins just trying to get by… You wanted us to be better. You wanted to make us heroes. You gave us steel. You…”

She cleared her throat.

“We want that kid back. I… just don’t know if we can.”

“You can’t,” said Siegfried. “Even if we succeed, I need to leave here.”

Salia stared.

“Just, practically speaking,” the mercenary went on, “if I stay here, more people will die. Innocent people throwing themselves at young, lost murderer.”

Keeping the reins with one hand, he gripped Salia’s shoulder.

“You are their leader now,” he said. “You kept them together while I was…”

But words failed him, and silence hung over them as their horses climbed their way further up the mountain path.


	8. Temple of Countless Ages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siegfried and company approach the long lost Temple. And they are not alone.

Mitsurugi looked down on the moonlit camp, just under a small overhanging cliff where the wind became less harsh. He knew they needed to sleep, but the tingling hands in his hands would not go away. Worst comes to worst, he would tire himself for the night standing in the wind after agreeing to take the first watch.

He turned around, and looked up the remaining patch. Just another hill to go over before heading to the peak. At that distance, Mitsurugi fought his gaze through the wind, but can only get the faint idea of a building embedded in the mountain. A marvel it was, that something could remain hidden. No one had ever mentioned it, and the closed in distance revealed very little.

“Relax.”

The swordsman did everything but, turning around with his hand on his hilt. Then he let out a huff, as Taki covered her mouth, holding in a chuckle.

“Poor choice of words!” said Mitsurugi, in their shared, home tongue. “You can’t just say hello like a normal person? I agreed to the first round of the watch!”

“I am only asking,” said Taki, “that you save it for… wherever this creature is.”

“This is far from my first time,” the swordsman went on, “waiting patiently for a duel.”

Taki shrugged, pulling the cloak about her shoulders close. “Suit yourself.”

With an exasperated sigh, Mitsurugi leaned against the rock wall. It was not that she didn’t have a reason for stopping him in the past. In fact, from what the wanderer had heard about the blade, she probably saved him from a lifetime of trouble. It was not much that he gathered, but it was simply that the wielder was never quite the same when he held it. And with the stories of the slaughter, the raids on villages…

“Why are you here, anyway?”

“Well,” said Taki, “I just wanted to check the top of the wall…”

“No,” said Mitsurugi. “Why are you back in here in the West?”

Taki blinked. “Oh. See, Sophitia and I got back a ways… actually just after I stopped your fool’s errand.”

_Rub it in!_

“She heard some prophecy from her gods,” she went on. “First to find some snake cult, and… well, here we are now.”

“It would appear,” said Mitsurugi, “that weapon will always have some hold on us.”

“But… why are _you_ here?” asked Taki.

“Looking for a challenge!” said Mitsurugi with a laugh. “Not every day the Azure Knight walks about the countryside.”

“And that’s it?”

Mitsurugi blinked, before rolling his eyes.

“I have mastered a countless number of ways of getting past a firearm!” said the swordsman. “Once this Knight lies dead, I will turn around and be on my way.”

“You…” Taki said, blinking. “You’re traveling just for a challenge?”

The swordsman raised a brow. “What of it?”

“Do you have nowhere to go back to?” asked Taki. “No one…?”

“Disease and misfortune took my family years ago,” he said, his voice softer even if he was still annoyed. “Farming turned insurmountable with one set of hands, so I wandered and fought until I became so good at it that lords would hire me! I swore I would take on any man, any weapon…”

“Was it revenge then?” asked Taki.

He shook his head. “On disease? Good luck! I had no rank, no royalty to lean on. But I made sure every ruler knew my name…”

“That’s why you wanted the blade,” said Taki. “You could not fail.”

“Not when you’re a kid on your last legs.”

Once more silence fell between the two, but the reminder did not leave the swordsman untouched. How many years had it been, he wondered, since he had heard any of their voices? Since he had seen their faces? Try as he might, the faint images in his head only grew fainter. At the time, he hardly had any time to mourn, starving as he was.

“I never knew my own family,” said Taki.

The swordsman raised a brow.

“But the clan I was taken to,” she went on, “fell apart…”

Then she turned her head toward their destination.

Mitsurugi followed her gaze, but nothing caught his eye.

“What are you—”

When get looked after Taki, she left but footprints in the snow. He drew his sword, looking up and down the path and listened. Once more, nothing stood out to him.

_“Army’s approaching!”_

Mitsurugi looked up at the top of the rock wall, the faint outline of Taki dark among the snowy winds. With the grace of a cat, she made her way down the wall and back on the snowy path.

“Another fool,” said Mitsurugi, “hoping to face the Azure Knight?”

“Probably but…” she said. “There was glow about them, a glow like…”

The swordsman gripped his hilt tight.

“Soul Edge,” he uttered.

“I could not tell beyond that,” she said.

The flap of a tent opened, and Sophitia’s peaked her head out from within.

“Someone’s approaching? Did I hear that right?”

Taki nodded. “I think they are malfested.”

“We need everyone up,” said Sophitia. “We can’t delay any longer. Soul Edge will be powerful enough without…”

Mitsurugi felt his hand twitch, as he sheathed his blade.

_At least, I won’t have to wait any longer!_

Zasalamel watched the entangled blades, the great pillar of light still striking the heavens. Slowly, he watched the Soul Calibur inch its way out, sliding out of the eye, a faint trail of blood dripping down upon the stone floor. And there was little else to do but wait.

He stepped toward the end of the balcony when he heard the marching of soldiers. To his right, the violet-red light showed the faint glint of spears in the distance. But even at that distance, he could recognize the effects of Soul Edge’s seed, its transformation that he had heard over the past several years. Yet, it struck another question: the Azure Knight never went that way, so who are they?

And then he turned his gaze back the other way. Horses were approaching fast, leaving a wake of dusty snow through the mountain path. He pressed his hand against the side of his head, and the distance closed in on his mind’s eye.

Zasalamel was no stranger to the tales of late, of that pirate or Azure Knight. Nor was he lost to those who had defeated them. In the front of the pack, a blonde woman led, another sharing the horse and holding onto her tightly. Then came a man in red robes, a swordswoman and sailor flanking him.

_Those are all familiar, but…_

Just beside them was a taller man, a faint golden glow about his shoulders and a great sword strapped to his back. Among the other armed warriors, he stood out to the sorcerer for reasons that escaped him.

A steely weight landed on the stone platform behind him. Zasalamel turned, and nearly slipped off of the edge by the sight of the creature before him. Of course, he recognized the talon like arm, but he never stopped to think about the face underneath the now removed helmet. The black wings on its back folded in, and the edge of the cursed blade looked closer to whole than it was.

“How much longer, sorcerer,” the creature said through its toothy maw.

The voice sent a chill down his spine, as it had been barely coherent before. It would appear that the creature had found a source that more than tided him over. The sorcerer always knew that there was a voice, an influence beyond its eye and steel exterior. But he had never seen it embodied in a physical form such as this.

And despite the seemingly charred skin and the red eyes…

_He looks eerily close to that mercenary._

“We have until dawn,” said Zasalamel. “Then, the Soul Calibur will be released from you. I will simply ask that you give me a moment afterwards to perform one last ritual.”

But then the creature lowered its brow.

“I have felt your soul before,” it said.

The sorcerer froze.

“But your flesh was very different,” it went on. “Not many have wielded it and remember it. You have been up to these tricks before.”

Zasalamel forced himself to smile.

“I have been studying your being from a time unremembered,” he said. “And every new generation gave me twice as many questions as answers. Such a craftsmanship…”

It grinned its fanged, toothy smile.

“Hammer and steel is merely how I have come into this world,” it said. “And my edge have tasted countless lives, drank oceans of blood. And now, I finally walk free.”

“And so you shall,” said the Sorcerer, “once all is completed.”

“And the other blade?”

“As good as gone.”

“Yet, I wonder,” said the creature. “What purpose could you possibly have to releasing me? What have countless generations, countless lives given you the thirst for.”

Zasalamel turned his head away.

“The reasons are my own.”

“Is that… shame, I feel?” said the creature, lifting its claw like hand. “Fear? Oh, those have failed many a man, woman and child in their meager seconds before I fed.”

The sorcerer remained silent, choosing his words…

“You have tampered with these… arts,” said the Soul Edge, as he turned toward the entangled blades.

“Stand away from that!” said Zasalamel.

Its clawed hand stopped where it was.

“Very well,” it said, opening its wings. “I will let you perform your little tricks. At dawn, that damned blade is released from my heart.”

And with a heavy flap of its wings, it propelled itself into the sky. Zasalamel breathed after what seemed like a thousand year chat, sweat beading down his face for the first time in ages. He held onto his great scythe tightly, before turning down to the road once more.

_Moments… Mere moments in these countless lives… And it shall all finally end…_

Ahead of Siegfried, as they climbed up to the crest of the small hill, Sophitia lifted her hand, and all behind her came to a halt. Before them, the rocky terrain gave away a split in the road.

“By Athena,” she said, turning her gaze down the right path, just beyond the rocky peak before them.

And it did not take long for Siegfried to see what she was looking at.

A great cathedral stood within the small bed of mountains ahead, its natural sentinels hiding it just enough from the valleys far below. Glowing with a strange, orchid color in the coming dawn, light ran up its pillars, about its round roof and painted statues of old gods. The distance they viewed it from could not do it justice, yet, despite their urgency, it seemed the entire company was held in a trance just looking at it.

But Siegfried’s gaze fell upon its balcony, flanked by every flowing waterfalls, and blanketed in that familiar violet red light. And looming just over head, the black winged, armored figure stood upon the top of the cathedral, its terrible broken blade in hand and eyes unmistakably looking toward the company.

“That’s where we need to go,” said Siegfried.

“Agreed,” said Kilik, but then the monks eyes turned toward the other path.

The mercenary followed his gaze.

“… Lord Vogel?” said Salia.

Siegfried blinked. A marching line of armored soldiers approached, their pikes upraised and the terrible echo of their steps gliding over the snowy path before them. At the end of them stepped the only horse, its rider…

The mercenary expected the (probably greying by now) brown hair of Lord Vogel, his standard waving in the air. But this man’s blond hair glowed the same violet-red gaze he stared out with, along with the sparse view he had of the soldiers’ eyes through their helmets. And the rider himself stared out with a confidence none had seen among the malfested before.

And, not for the first time since he had been freed from the accursed blade, something from Siegfried’s memory screamed out at him as he continued to gaze upon the rider.

But they had little time for such things.

“I have a feeling,” said Maxi, “that they’re not exactly friends.”

“More malfested,” said Kilik.

“Just when I thought we had enough problems,” said Taki, stretching out her neck.

In front of Siegfried, Salia turned her head down the path to the cathedral, looking it up and down. She then turned, sweeping her gaze over the rest of Schwarzwind. Then she turned to the approaching army.

“The approach is narrow enough,” said the captain of Schwarzwind. “Is… Hear me out.”

Siegfried nodded and could not help but smile. “Of course.”

She turned to Kilik.

“Back when the Azure Knight’s army approached a village we were protecting,” she said, “they all suddenly fell, dropping dead…”

The monk nodded. “There’s… seldom a way to bring someone back from that alive…”

Siegfried held his tongue, feeling like the elephant on the barstool…

“… but,” the monk went on, “should we destroy Soul Edge here and now, its influence should falter.”

“Won’t we need the Soul Calibur?” said Xianghua.

“It’s already there,” said Siegfried.

All eyes turned to him.

“When I broke free,” the mercenary went on, “I plunged the Soul Calibur into its eye. They entangled with each other just before I escaped that twice cursed castle. And I can’t think of any other reason for a walking phantom of the cursed sword to be going there unless…”

Sophitia nodded. “Someone brought it there.”

“From there…” Siegfried went on. “I know nothing of magic. But that’s where the blade is.”

Salia’s brow lowered, turning her head toward Kilik, but then held her tongue. As though tearing herself from a chain, she turned her head toward Siegfried.

“You take Kilik, and whoever else you need,” she said. “We’ll hold them here.”

Such a statement nearly tore Siegfried’s heart from his chest. He looked around, and the faces of Landau and the rest of Schwarzwind as they grip their swords, their hammers and their spears. The people he had brought together, when he grew tired of his friends taken away for far away wars, all looked to him, afraid but willing.

“There’s an old tale,” said Salia. “Something about Spartans.”

“Ah!” said Sophitia. “At Thermopylae.”

Then the warrior frowned.

“It didn’t end too well for them.”

Taki padded one of her belts.

“They didn’t have explosives,” said the demon hunter. “I’ll need someone watching my back, but I can imagine we can make another mountain fall.”

“This isn’t our first time facing malfested,” said Salia. “We taught ourselves, after all.”

But as Siegfried’s head began to sink, Salia looked him in the eye.

“Hey!” she said, sternly. “Don’t sink into the cold ground like that.”

Siegfried lifted himself. Salia opened her hand.

With a grin, the mercenary took her hand, her strong grip matching his. And as he looked into her eyes, he knew that no more needed to be said.

It was time to bring down that dragon.

“Here,” said Maxi, stepping down from his horse and looking to Taki. “I’ll go with you.”

The demon hunter nodded.

“Mitsurugi?” she asked.

“You do your tricks,” said the swordsman, looking toward the approaching army with a grin. “I’ve found a battle worth my time!”

“Xianghua?” said Kilik.

“I’ll go with Maxi,” she said, receiving a smile from the former sailor. “You take care of Soul Calibur for me.”

“Very well,” said Sophitia glancing toward the cathedral. “I bring my shield to Soul Edge.”

Without another moment’s hesitation, the three nodded to each other and rode out, down the snowy path and toward the cathedral.

_So… They are to fight then._

Zasalamel gazed upon the line of mercenaries readying themselves, well aware of the trio of horsemen approaching fast toward the cathedral. At that distant, he heard the faint echo of orders being delivered, horses being dismounted, and…

_Interesting… forgot about that back road…_

Three others traveled apart from the rest of the mercenaries, walking up a treacherous path up the mountain side. With his golden eye, the sorcerer followed with his gaze, as it wound about before climbing to the top of the cliff over the main path. An old memory reminded him that, without the greatest aim in the world, these would just be two soldiers sending a handful of arrows from above.

But Zasalamel had seen manmade death of all forms. Swords, cannon fire …

_Man can be clever when they’re desperate._

He stepped away from the balcony, risking just a moment away from the entangled swords. Down the hall, he walked, not far until he was in a small enclosed garden. Dawn was just starting to grace the grassy floor, and the meager plants before him. Dotting the garden were rows and rows of old tombs, names long past of a much older tongue.

Gazing over the forgotten graves, he summoned his will in his hand, a violet light erupting between his fingers. He then waved his hand toward the graves before him, scattering the light as though a handful of seeds. Silence followed, but soon several earthy groans were heard from below.

The ground before another tomb erupted in dust, followed by another, and then another, before the dirt cloud seemed to fill the garden itself. Slowly, it cleared, all the while the sound of clicks and dry gasps echoed within the walls.

A skull’s head opened its jaw, letting out that terrible gasp from underneath the helmet of a bygone age. In its loose fitting armor, the skeleton pressed its hand against the ground beside and pushed its clumsy, clattering body out of its bed of dirt. Many others followed suit, until a modest skeletal army stood before him. No armor matched another’s, some Zasalamel recognized from a previous life, others beyond even his own time (or should he say “times”).

Once more, the sorcerer raised his hand, and the majority of the skeletons stood straight after a brief drumroll of a clinks and clatter.

_Take your position about the fortress._

And like puppets, they shambled along, no argument, no thought, but the simple directions from the man’s orders. Once more, he raced his hand, and the rest of his small army stood at attention.

_Take the path from the outside, and pursue a trio upon the mountain top. Slay them._

And with more of a skip to their step, they ran off, their bony bodies audible for most of their path out. While listening to the rest of them shamble through the cathedral, he turned back to the task at hand. He mused on what ages these once brave men came from, who they fought for, and, more puzzling, how they came here.

Then he let himself laugh once more, musing on how _he_ may have been one of them. In lives past, he had fought, and the strength and training of all those many ages still felt as real to him then as they did in previous lives. He wondered who would find his body, as humanity is nothing if not curious.

But those were answers for another man, another age, another time.

_I just need but a few more moments… Then this soul will be free…_

The path dipped before rising again, one last crest on the hill toward the cathedral. But it is just beyond this dip that Salia chose to make their stand. She looked back up toward the mountains, looking toward the mountain peak where the approaching army had already gathered around and started to ascend. The horseman took his time, letting the rest of his soldiers to keep up, and as he drew near, Salia got a clearer look at the man.

Snow stuck to his otherwise formal attire, green tails billowing in the wind. At his hip, hung a saber on one side, a longer rapier clinking against back of the horse on the other. But he wore nothing heavier, no cloak to hold close or coat.

Nor, did it seem, that he needed it.

With a straight, relaxed posture, he let his horse walk along, until he was maybe a few feet from the line of mercenaries that Salia took the helm of. She clenched her shield tight, staring back into his glowing eyes as he sneered.

“My lady,” he said, cordial despite his glare, as he swept his gaze about the rest of the mercenaries. “Gentlemen. I must implore you to stand aside.”

“And I must implore _you_ ,” said Salia, “to sod off. Whatever you did with Vogel, you’re not getting through.”

The man laughed. “Ah, yes, _him_. I can tell by the tone of your voice that he deserved the same contempt I always had since I was but a boy. He could not predict someone of my…”

He raised a hand, his eyes upon his rather pale hand.

“... Let’s say newfound pedigree to reach his doorstep.”

Salia looked him up and down. “You’re not under its control.”

“It could have fared worse, I suppose,” he said, “having encountered Soul Edge, after all.”

“Wait,” she said, “you faced the Azure Knight?”

“Why yes,” he said. “It was but a curiosity at first, but I soon became enraptured. Such power, such a prize…”

The boyish face of Siegfried came to her mind.

“It’s no prize,” she said. “It is a curse and nothing else.”

“A curse…”

The man smiled, fangs clear amongst the bright, dawn painted snow.

“What in the…?” muttered Mitsurugi.

“Do not speak to _me,_ ” the man snapped, “of _curses!”_

He raised a fisted.

“I was _born_ to a noble plain of cutthroats!” the man called out. “Every blessing brought another curse in its back edge. Friends meant nemeses, money meant thievery and power meant bloodshed! And upon this tightrope dichotomy I had tread, and it had nearly destroyed me many times over.

“But then fate granted me a child,” he went on, with no lack of sorrow, “the one mortal upon this entire land undeserving of such a game. And cursed though I am, I will grant her the greatest blessing a father could give.”

Salia lowered her brow, gazing upon the puppet army beside this horseman.

“Slavery?”

“Dominion over all,” he said. “A land that bends to her will. Every inch of ground clean of the filth that had ruled over my land like an overgrown forest. Our own Rome, our own _Eden_ , with legions upon legions keeping the vultures of my enemies but a myth and legend away!”

The man glanced past the mercenaries by her side.

“I see those fools, riding in the distance,” he went on. “Do you wish to destroy it? To take it up yourself?”

His grin disappeared, as he lifted his chin and stared down his face at Salia.

“What dreams of power could you possibly possess?” he demanded.

Salia stepped forward, her heart kept still like a nocked arrow, glaring upon the banners of House Vogel.

“Only the dreams,” she said, tightening the grip of her hilt, “of a small child with her stick.”

The man raised his brow, the small mutter of laugh escaping his lips.

“Simpletons, the lot of them,” he said, as one by one, the pikes of his soldiers lowered, aimed as straight and true as even the most experienced soldier.

The lord lifted his hand. Salia lifted her shield. And beside her, through the ring of many swords, axes and all those in between, her army lifted their weapons.

“Those dreams you shall have,” he said, thrusting his hand forward. “Put these children to bed.”

Salia glared back into the glowing eyes of the incoming pike men, nothing in their souls but the orders given. She had spent the better part of the last seven years fighting off horde after horde of the malfested. In command or not, this was just another lost, blind crowd, fighting for an insatiable parasite.

The spears flew in, the first cries of battle sang, and all fell into steel and blood.

Siegfried pulled on the reins, his horse halting where it stood. He turned back, Sophitia and Kilik just behind him, staring up at the towering cathedral whose foot they stood at. Dismounting, Siegfried looked the great walls up and down, trying to pin point which nation it could have possibly belonged to.

But behind every set of pillars, gods of old and gods of lost ages stood behind. It was Greek one moment, Roman another, of Charlemagne in the next…

“Hepaestus,” said Sophitia, staring as she tightened her shield to her arm.

Siegfried followed her gaze to one of the painted statues.

“Hammer… Altar… Looks about right.”

As Siegfried strapped Gram to his back, Kilik took his staff from his horse, and Sophitia drew her blade, they gazed into the arched entrance. Without another word, they approached, the snow thinning with each step, and this great sentinel over a forgotten world looming overhead. The snow gave way to dirt under their feet, and the dirt soon turned to stone as their steps echoed through the first set of pillars.

The orchid painted walls glowed here and there in the glimpses of dawn that cast through the pillars. Shining waters flowed from the patterns of waterfalls and underneath the grates under their feet. And as dire as the battle ahead was, Siegfried, in that quiet walk, let himself bask in the flowing water, the brilliance the dawn gave upon the pillars and floors and the peaceful serenity through these still halls.

Then a strange clicking sound echoed, and in the blink of an eye, Siegfried had his hand on the hilt of his sword. Sophitia and Kilik stopped in their tracks. Sweeping his gaze, Siegfried spotted a balcony in the distance, that terrible violet-red glow enveloping the stone.

From under his hood, a man standing upon the center of the balcony stared at them, an odd golden glint from the darkness enshrouding his face. He lifted his hand, bringing a tall steel scythe standing upon the floor, as the other hand lifted with a violet light emitting between his fingers.

Siegfried winced, feeling a sharp pain as though the inside of his arm was suddenly pinched. Even at the distance the figure stood, the mercenary swore it was smiling at him.

Then the click echoed once more.

_“Siegfried.”_

The mercenary turned to Sophitia, and followed her gaze into one of the darker hallways. From within, glowing eyes stare out, and Siegfried heard a dry gasp to accompany the ever approaching clicking. Into the dawn light, a head came in, its aged helmet shining bright in the dawn sun. It lifted…

The bone white skull stared out at them, opening its jaw and letting out a lower hiss, as though an old battle cry struggle to break free.

More shambling came forward as another skeleton showed itself in the morning light. Followed by another, its green, rusted bronze helmet falling upon the ground with a sudden clank. They lifted their swords, just as worn as their armor, and their call echoed from their jaws with a terrible harmony.

Siegfried tore Gram from its sheath, its runes glowing and edge glinting. A small gust of wind went through the mercenary’s hair as Kilik spun its staff, until settling it behind him, his stance set like a catapult. And the faint glow of Sophitia’s shield shined on the polished floors under their booted feet.

Siegfried sneered.

“Let’s send them back to their graves!”


	9. Blood and Steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taki leads Xianghua and Maxi, while Salia leads the mercenaries down below against Raphael and his men. Deep in the temple, Siegfried, Sophitia and Kilik confront Nightmare and Zasalamel.

“How many of these did you bring?” Maxi asked, feeling the weight of the bag over his shoulder.

“Never enough,” said the demon hunter, ahead of him, seeming to carry her own weight with ease.

“Not that I’m complaining…” said the sailor.

By his side, Xianghua held her sword out, keeping a weather eye as they (finally) crested the hill, the mountain top leveling out. From there, he could hear the battle down below, and all the clashing and screams that came with it. As they reached the flatter ground, fought all temptation to put the bag down, the echoes reminding him of his urgency.

_I’ve been sailing for years, but…_

From within the constant winds, Maxi heard a strange gasp behind him. The steps of Taki and Xianghua ceased, as they all peered over their shoulders.

_Is that a skeleton?_

Maxi dropped his bag, tore the nunchuks from his belt, ducked an incoming blade and then kneed a bony pelvis. The technique that the sailor came up with had always drawn a curious look from many a passerby, particularly in the west. But confusion was half the point. His movements were strange, disorienting, leaving many of his opponents off guard.

The other half of the point? Breaking bones.

Lifting his foot, he kicked the skull, sending it into the snow in the distance. But then he lifted his nunchuks once more, catching the blade in the chains as it came down with all the weight of a trained soldier. Force of habit made him look into the eyes of his enemy, but that was now lost in the snow. Instead, he caught sight of more of these bone-dried soldiers coming up the hill with uncanny grace.

He pulled the sword out of the skeleton’s bony hand and sent his foot into its thinly protected rib cage, feeling it crack under his heel. Like a bug, the remains laid on the ground, flaying its remaining limbs with a missing head, and half a pelvis, and ribs scattered.

_“You don’t know when to quit!”_ called out Xianghua.

With another swing of her sword, the skeleton’s second arm came loose. There was nothing more but a standing, headless and disarmed torso making a half-effort to go forward but without the necessary limbs to do anything else.

But, behind them, the bony figures were still approaching, swords drawn and jaws agape in their terrible hiss. With a heavy steps, their old armor rattled and weapons dragged against the snow.

_“Both of you!”_ shouted Taki, drawing her daggers, her belt covered in bombs. “We don’t have time for this. You take the bags. _I’ll_ deal with them.”

“You sure—” Maxi started to say before the demon hunter, dressed in white, seemed to melt into the snow.

Without another thought, he took up the bag and ran across the top of the mountain, Xianghua just at his heels, only hearing a faint echo of steel and bone behind them.

The greater sound, was coming from below.

Once they reached the cliff’s edge, Maxi looked down. Amidst the violet-red haze about the army, the snow at their feet were littered with bodies and red with blood. The nobleman, whoever he was, was gaining ground, but at the front of the line, the quick flashes of blades rising and falling told a different story.

Maxi had heard legends of the wandering swordsman before. While he understood Taki’s disdain for him, he could not help but admire the man’s speed and precision. Like a hurricane, his blades tore through possessed soldier after possessed soldier, spears splitting under his sword, its wielder following shortly afterwards in a bloody heap.

By his side, the leader of the mercenaries painted her own path of blood. When she wasn’t tearing through them with her sword, the malfested would feel the broad side of her shield and go careening down the cliff. Bolts flew from Schwarzwind’s crossbows, coordinated in a way the sailor had seldom seen in most armies.

As his gaze traced down ever bloodied path, Maxi spotted the nobleman himself, still on his horse, staying back and letting his soldiers do the work.

“Hey, Xianghua,” Maxi said, pulling out one of the bombs from near inexhaustible supply by his side. “He looks a little bored.”

Xianghua grinned. “Wouldn’t _we_ be the worst hosts if we just left them without entertainment!”

With a match, Maxi lit the first bomb. A great thunder erupted behind them, and when he looked back, the snow plain rained with smoldering bones and old, charred weapons around a cloud of fiery smoke. And still, Taki was nowhere to be seen.

“Let’s assume that’s a good thing,” said the sailor, eying the nobleman, lit bomb in hand. “We don’t have time for anything else!”

Another skeleton fell under the weight of Siegfried’s sword, bones snapping and weapon clattering upon the ground. He turned, and the mercenary lifted his blade, catching another undead warrior just under its breast plate, and sending it through a pair of pillars and careening into the chasm below. Shouts and curses rang alongside steel and bone. Where his blade would not land, Sophitia’s shield and sword took its place. And when that failed, Kilik’s staff would turned a skull into dust.

Scattered bits blanketed the stone floor of the halls they fought through, with it the old, tattered armor of days bygone. Endless this fallen army had seemed, but the mercenary felt renewed vigor flowing through his arms. He could not tell if it was all from within, or that another sword had gripped him, but it did not matter as ribs and spine snapped under Gram’s glowing steel.

_“We need to get to that balcony!”_ shouted Siegfried, pummeling a bone dry face with his pommel.

_“I think there’s a stairway that way!”_ said Sophitia, nudging her head toward the deeper section of the cathedral.

Siegfried followed her gaze. Lit partially by the dawn, his followed a spiral of stairs upward.

_Yes… Then we turn and… As good a guess as any!_

Kilik, too, turned his head, before nodding and turning away from the incoming horde of skeletons. Siegfried swung his sword one last time, catching a skull one and the femur of another, and, once Sophitia retreated, he followed suit.

It was the first breather they had had since they entered, as the skeletons forced them to move frantically from one room to another, trying to keep up with the swarm they had barely fought off. As the mercenary followed the two into through the comparatively empty hall, he let himself grin.

_He must be running out._

But he heard the approaching, risen army fast catching up on their heels. Up the stairs they flew, ascending up the stone spiral until they found another floor. Just as he reached the final stair, Siegfried spun around and swung his blade…

… Through the empty air.

Straining his ears, he barely heard the clicking of steps down below, but none of them were sprinting or in any kind of urgency. He counted his breaths, expecting another bone white warrior to leap of the stairs the second he took his eyes away. But the stairs remained as hollow as their graves.

“Well,” said Sophitia behind him, “let’s not waste our chance.”

Nodding, he turned, running at his companions heels. The ceiling above them ended just ahead in an arch. Just beyond, the same violet-red haze that the mercenary knew too well glowed. His right arm gripped the sword tight, the twitch in his arm returning once more. Fast down the hall they went, the sound of the mountain wind before them.

Keeping her shield up, Sophitia ran through the threshold first. Kilik followed shortly after, and it was only then that Siegfried saw the whole of the balcony.

At the edge, the scythe glowed in the haze, gripped tightly in the hooded man’s hand. As they slowed to walk, Siegfried, followed the man’s gaze. In the distance, the battle raged on, the tail painted red. The mercenary gritted his teeth as he realized that Schwarzwind had lost ground, and further back they kept moving.

“So many fools,” said the man, as he turned, his hood, lifting just enough for his golden eye to show. Within that light, his dark face smiled.

“So many come after this blade,” the man went on, standing his scythe straight, “dragging themselves further and further into the cold abyss.”

The hooded man gave out a chuckle, just as Kilik raised his staff and Sophitia stood, sword at the ready.

“But I suppose some come back,” he went on. “Is that right, wielder?”

Siegfried lowered his brow.

“How did you…?” he said.

Again, the man laughed.

“You break into the home,” he said, glancing upward, “of a man who could raise skeletons from their graves, you figured out that the swords were here, and you cannot guess how?”

Siegfried chanced a look, past his shoulder, and up to the top of the cathedral. There the dark figure of Soul Edge, the shell of the Azure Knight, stood. Even from that distance, he could feel that twisted reflection of himself gazing down at him. The beast’s wings opened, before his form descended down, the phantom of Soul Edge in his hand hanging like another talon. With a few loud beats of his wings, it landed, the tiles beneath him cracking and scattering under his feet. As it stood to its feet, it smiled his toothy grin at the mercenary.

All the while, Siegfried felt that terrible twitch in his right arm.

“The Soul Edge was always full of surprises,” said the hooded man. “But never did I think a wielder could pull himself free. Nor did I truly understand the extent to which he could leave a part of himself within.”

“Whatever part of myself lies in those tattered plates,” said Siegfried, “it is nothing but dead skin.”

“Oh, I do not wish to begrudge your past,” said the hooded man, as the mercenary continued to glare at the Azure Knight. “I am actually curious as to what it is like, to have wielded it and come back in the same life.”

_“In the same…?”_ said Siegfried, before turning to the hooded man. “What I want to know is why in the hell you brought it back!?”

For a moment, there was silence. His companions stood nearby, their sword and staff at the ready, and the glowing runes of Siegfried’s own sword hungry for battle. About them water flowed, and in the distance the sound of steel rang across the mountains.

“This battle?” said the hooded figure. “Another? I have seen many, too many.”

The hooded figure tilted his scythe toward the Azure Knight. Upon an altar…

Siegfried only remember fragments the night he was finally freed. But he could not forget the entanglement between the two blades. There, Soul Calibur stood, its blade still embedded into the twitching eye of Soul Edge. Slowly but surely, the holy blade was sliding out of the eye, and it was only then that Siegfried realized that the cursed blade regained some of its shape.

“What you see there?” he went on. “It is not just _your_ stupidity. It is the ultimate fate of mankind. I have lived many lives, seen many civilizations, from villages to empires, crumble into dust for their own greed. Rome had perished from within, and many more sad imitations will follow such a fate before the light upon us dies out forever.

“Such a greed drove me to break beyond such mortal barriers. And into that same greed, for the everlasting peace to my soul, it shall end.”

“And the blades?” asked Sophitia.

“Soul Calibur will have no more purpose,” said the hooded man, “and Soul Edge…”

He grinned, as the Azure Knight lifted his sword.

“Is inevitable.”

“End this now,” said Kilik simply, his staff aglow, the monk glaring into this sorcerer’s eyes.

The hooded man grinned, taking the spear end of his scythe into his other hand, as a farmer ready to reap.

“You cannot turn the decision,” said the sorcerer, “of a man seeking death.”

Siegfried lifted his blade, stopping the Azure Knight’s sword just an inch from his face, the clanking like thunder to his ears. As felt the weight in his hands, the phantom eye glared into his.

“Sophitia!” shouted Siegfried, matching the cursed being’s strength with his own. “I don’t care what it takes. Get Soul Calibur out of there!”

Sophitia, sword in hand, looked to the entangled blades and nodded.

“I’ll keep him off,” said Siegfried, glaring into his charred reflection, the sins of his own making.

As she sprinted past him, he pushed back against the sword like any other blade, sending the knight back a couple of steps. All the while the runes glowed, its light singing the tales of old heroes Siegfried knew too well.

“Her turn is coming up,” said Siegfried, lifting his blade as a fury of his own burned from his heart and into his hands. “For now… Prepare for reckoning, _my unforgivable past!”_

The entanglement stood before Sophitia upon the stone altar. Catching her breath, she stepped toward it, watching the pulsating, squid-like arms, stretching out from its accursed eye, trying to keep its grip upon the hilt. While the Soul Calibur seemed to emit a light of its own, it appeared to be fading, as though it is being fed off of.

Delicately, she kneeled and placed her sword aside. As she stood back up, she stared at the hilt of Soul Calibur reached for the hilt, shivering at the cursed sword’s palpable presence, before she reached for it. She stared down at the quivering eye, a black ichor pouring out. Yet, she knew it was watching with all the same the hatred it held in the hands of Cervantes.

But then the eye stopped shaking, staring at her directly.

“You…” a growling voice rang in heard head.

Her hand stopped.

“We’ve tasted your flesh before,” it went on. “The day you shattered us…”

Sophitia winced, the phantom cuts from years before returning to her mind.

“A new fear cries out within you,” said the voice. “That of a mother… That of one who bore life…”

_Grab the hilt._

But her hand seem hesitate on its own.

“The sword within me could never truly destroy me,” the voice went on. “It is a false hope, a lie, a false poultice upon the bloodthirst of man. We offer you your seeds’ their greatest protector.”

Steel clashed against steel once more behind her, shaking her awake.

_There’s not time for this._

Setting her foot upon the eye, she grabbed the hilt of Soul Calibur. Gritting her teeth, she began to pull. The cursed blade glowed, and from around her foot, more of those terrible arms sprouted. Like a knotted rope, the wrapped around her steel clad leg, as she forced her shield between herself in that accursed eye.

_“We offered you salvation!”_ shouted the voice.

As she pulled, Sophitia felt the constricting arms about her leg and her body. Her shield was pressed against her arm, standing as the only thing keeping it from suffocating. Setting off sparks in her head through gritted teeth, she stared out upon the balcony. The greatswords of Siegfried and the Azure Knight set sparks off of each other, moving in a speed that should be impossible. But the mercenary, the phoenix feathers upon his shoulders waving as though airborne, knew the weight of the weapon he wielded. All the while, his blue eyes glared with a ferocity of a desperate lion, the thunder of their steel ringing as though a storm gathered between them.

Just beyond them, scythe and rod matched each other like dueling dancers. The way Kilik had moved was always uncanny to Sophitia, unconventional yet quick and impossible to follow. But the point of this sorcerer’s scythe was always but an inch away.

The arms around her grew stronger. As strong as her own grip was, she began to feel it about her back, around the shield once more, and about her neck.

“Take my blade…” said the voice.

The sorcerer swung down, tearing the back of Kilik’s robes in half. The monk rolled away, catching himself. Blood dripped underneath him from his back, forming a small pool.

_“You can save them…”_

Siegfried dropped to one knee as the Azure Knight, wings flapping about, brought his sword down upon Gram. The dragon slaying sword held true, and Siegfried held defiantly, even as the Knight raised its grotesque, clawed arm.

_“This day they fall…”_

An arm wrapped about her eyes, and soon all was dark, and the snare itself was deafening.

_“There is no escape…”_

_There is no escape…_

The grip only grew tighter, the darkness blinding…

_There is no…_

Then a new fury rose from within her heart. There is no escape? The two warriors just beyond her reach were proof of the Soul Edge’s ultimate lie. The fallen can rise. The abyss can be escaped. Her children…

Such were the realizations of Sophitia, the hope she needed to hold onto ever since she held her daughter in her arms. That the wounds of the accursed blade will not be passed down. That she would tear through Olympus to free both of them from this plague. And the phantom wounds from that battle long ago, once hampered her, drove the push of her shield, the push of her boot, and the grip upon that hilt.

And the holy blade finally loosened.

From within the ensnare arms, sky blue light began to light. The arms began to quiver, their grip loosened, and she glared back at the Soul Edge’s blood red glare…

_“I am their salvation!”_

Under her shield, she gripped the handle tight, as she held onto the hilt of Soul Calibur with renewed strength. She pressed her foot down upon its accursed eye, before she tore the holy sword from the husk of the Soul Edge. And like a bird, she spread out her arms, the coils about her tearing like old, dry vines.

And before her, the twisted vision of her new found friend, the embodiment of the very war god she had spent her life fighting, held back its claw and looked to her, its toothy grin dissipating and its eyes glowing wide.

_“No!”_ shouted the sorcerer, staring at the great blue light that suddenly erupted from the Altar.

But Kilik pushed through the pain from gash down his back, and took a chance of the meager seconds he was given. As he brought down his staff, the sorcerer stopped it with the haft of his scythe, but the Monk had always been a quick learner. Kilik saw the panic in his eyes, and he knew he would never get another chance.

Down he swung his staff went, and the monk knew that the spear end of the scythe was moving too slowly. The sorceror’s knee cracked and buckled under force of the dvapara-yuga. Kilik spun around, spinning the staff in its own whirlwind and brought it down once more.

The sorcerer lifted his scythe, only for the steel haft to bend against the staff. And like a meteorite, the end of the staff kept falling into his shoulder and snapping his collarbone in twine.

The sorcerer fell, shouting out in agony as the two halves of his scythe clattered upon the floor. As he tried to brace himself with one arm, the sorcerer shouted out, before letting his back onto the stone floor. Once he caught his breath, the sorcerer lifted his head, glaring with his golden eye aglow.

“You fools…” he said, coughing out a small laugh.

Kilik turned to the Azure Knight. It spread out its wings, bringing its form into the air. Faintly, the monk could see a violet coils between the flying creature and the altar.

_No, with the remains of the Soul Edge._

“You prevented nothing,” the sorcerer went on. “Nothing but the doom, the _oblivion_ , I had promised myself… Enjoy the fruits of your labor!”

The coils grew more pronounced, growing to a crescendo of light, blinding them. The Knight’s wings spread out, its phantom blade rose…

Backed further and further away, Salia chanced a glance behind her. She felt that they had been losing ground and her companions, but she just behind her stood the gates of the cathedral. But far worse was that the path was widening, and their already strained advantage was about to come to an end.

Quickly realizing this, the remaining soldiers of Schwarzwind filled in the widening path with the meager number they had left.

_So many friends gone…_

Salia raised her shield, deflecting another spear. With a shout, she thrusted her shoulder forward and sending another possessed fool down into the chasm below. She clenched her teeth as another spear head came past her shield and bit into her right arm. Before she could lift up her own blade, Mitsurugi brought his own sword down, tearing through the wielder’s arm and breaking the spear in half.

_You don’t have time to bleed…_

She straightened her shoulders, but her heartbeat began to drown out the battle around her. She fell her blade once more, barely feeling the impact with her wrist. The steel ends of her armor began dig into her body.

Then a small spark began to fall from the mountainside. At first, she thought she was starting to grow dizzy, but it kept falling. Then another fell, followed by another. Over the line of soldiers, he spotted the horseman, and the smile upon his face melted away.

Then thunder struck.

Fire erupted just behind the horseman, his soldiers reduced to smoldering husks flying off of the cliff and into the chasm below. Just beyond the line she fought another went off, pushing the possessed soldiers stumbling into her shield as the smell of fire reached her. As she sank her blade into the body pressed against her, another explosion went off, forcing the horse to reel back.

The horseman sneered as he watched the better part of his army reduced to smoldering ash. He kicked his steed into motion, pushing through a group of his remaining soldiers and drawing his rapier.

But then another bomb fell just before him. Fire erupted once more, the whinny of his horse cut to short, and the horseman disappeared into the cloud.

Growling through the pain, Salia stood straight, pushing against another soldier. The battle raged on, but, for the first time, she felt the enemy line give, and, by her side, the rest of Schwarzwind pushed back. Somewhere in her line, she heard Landau let out a laugh, and the battle cry of her mercenaries returned with fervor.

Then, taller than the rest of his solders, the horseman rose. He flashed his teeth, opening his mouth and straining it against the smoldering, bleeding burns down the side of his face. As he stepped forward, tatters of his fine clothing peeled off of him until half of his shirt fell away.

Salia blinked, and steel sank into her left shoulder. The horseman’s glowing eyes glared into hers, as he lifted his other hand and brought down his saber. Desperately, she lifted her sword, stopping the noble’s blade just short of her throat.

The horseman turned his gaze, lifting the saber just in time to stop Mitsurugi’s blade. Salia gritted her teeth as she felt the rapier slide out of her shoulder, blood pouring out and sapping the strength in her legs. Sparks flew around the swordsman, as he batted away the storm of the noble’s swords.

And for the first time, desperation, and she would dare not call it fear, found the eyes of Mitsurugi. The hardened leather breastplate he had at the beginning of the battle had long since fallen away, leaving the tatters of his homeland’s robe-like shirt hanging onto him. And every piece that had fallen away revealed the strained, scarred muscle of his being.

He lifted his sword in a desperate swing, and blood scattered into the air as the tip dug into the horseman’s chest. Shouting in agony, the horseman fell his saber, the blade tearing down across Mitsurugi’s side.

Feeling her feet faltering, she lifted her bleeding sword arm, and twisted her waist and threw her sword. And she did not take her eyes off of the horseman’s heart until her spinning blade, glinting in the dawn, found its mark, cutting into his abdomen and sinking to the hilt beside an old closed scar.

With what felt like the last of her strength, she picked up her feet and ran through the snow and rocky terrain. Picking up her shield, she shoved her shoulder into side of the horseman, forcing him off of his feet and into the stone wall. Salia reached for her sword, but instead caught the rapier with her hand just as he tried to strike, feeling the edge in her palm and watching the tip draw closer and closer to her eye.

Salia twisted her body, wrenching the sword from his hand and casting its blood stained tip into the snow. She batted the saber away with her shield as she grabbed her sword and tore it out of the bleeding wound. After stepping away from another feeble swing of the saber, she watched the horseman stumble away, only to leave his back open.

And Salia struck, through his back and out his chest, tearing through flesh and breaking through bone. Blood poured from his wounds, as he finally fell to his knees. The snow beneath him were soaked red, all the while Salia’s sword still imbedded into his chest.

All around her, the sounds of battle quieted, and her wounds truly started to set as she stepped around the kneeling horseman. From his half burned face, his eyes stared into hers, and the violet red glow dying down.

“I…” he said, coughing out. “I was not… meant to die here.”

Salia flashed her teeth.

“You chose this death,” she said, every wound on her body sharpening her tone, “and the death of so many by dragging your puppet army to this godforsaken place.”

“There is little choice,” said the horseman, blood dripping from his lips, “when you make promises to your child.”

“Another spoiled brat?” she said.

Salia felt a hand upon her shoulder, and looked to find Mitsurugi by her side. Holding his wound with the other hand, he watching the dying nobleman.

“Let him speak,” said the swordsman. “The fight is done.”

The horseman shook his head.

“No,” he said, looking down on the ground. “No, not born to my noble land of cutthroats. Only an orphaned beggar, deciding, against all reason, to save a desperate fool like me.”

He looked up to Salia, an uncannily warm smile on his lips.

“You have her hair,” he said, padding a pouch upon his belt with a shaking hand, finally prying it open as the remnants of his strength melted away. After some fiddling, he pulled a folded paper out and reached out to Salia.

“I do not deserve your charity,” he said, hand clenched on the paper and shaking. “But she deserves the truth. And it is her judgement, not of God or the Devil, which I wish to deliver my soul.”

Salia readied her mouth to spit in his face, like she would have in the eye of Vogel and every other noble that left her family to die and her friends starve. But as she looked into his closing eyes, for the first time she saw a human staring out from within. He was born to cutthroats under the delusion of nobility, a world that Salia never knew, nor wished to.

Gently, she reached for the folded paper, taking it into her hand. The horseman let out a sigh, as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“To the northwest,” he said. “Look for the name of Sorel…”

And kneeling there, still run through with the sword, the man convulsed and let out his last breath.

Salia shoulders felt heavy as she placed the paper into one of her own pouches and gazed down the blood soaked path back up the mountain. Nary was there a spot of snow was free of blood, and what she could not see of the snow, a corpse lay. And there were many, cut to ribbons or blasted from above. More that held the colors of Vogel, but every companion, every friend caught in the pile, tore into her heart. The longer she stared, the colder the mountaintop wind felt upon her.

She turned to the remains of Schwarzwind. Barely half of them still stood, and all of them were nearly as pale as the snow at their feet. They had won. They stood against the worst of what drove her from that lonely basement long ago and she still drew breath. She always thought such a moment would bring cheering voices, but the only thing she felt at that moment were her cuts and wounds, and the weight of her armor.

_Like any other malfested army…_

Then the dawn painted snow turned an eerie shade of red. Salia looked to her men, and the red light was cast upon all. They all looked around themselves, before they settled their eyes upon the cathedral.

Salia followed their gaze.

Just over the balcony, the winged Azure Knight opened its wings…


	10. Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inferno awakens.

Siegfried stood, and as the light of the coils died down, the sky was blood red. Stepping back toward Kilik, the mercenary kept his gaze upon the Azure Knight above him, its own being still a modest sun to his eyes. Sophitia ran toward him, the Soul Calibur, the holy blade shining bright in her hand, before turning to face the Soul Edge.

_“What in the hell?”_ shouted Siegfried, as the figure finally lowered to the ground.

Fire erupted from the ground it stood upon, and its limbs, its body and its wings, burned like a walking red sun. The flames upon his body rose and coalesced into the shapes of swords, spears, axes and every weapon of war Siegfried could recognize. Its horned skull, more floating within than attached to a spine, opened its bony jaw, letting out the screams of countless shouting soldiers.

It reached into its own body with its fiery, bony hands. From within the inferno of its body, it tore out an axe and greatsword, both as bright as its accursed wielder. Stepping forward, the creature dug into the ground with its talon feet, fire erupting with every step.

“I saw this before…” said Kilik, catching his breath. “After I faced you… I could not tell if it was reality or…”

“You faced it?” said Siegfried. “How did you get through that?”

The monk grabbed his jewel necklace, taking it off with a single pull before dropping it upon the ground.

“With all of my being,” said Kilik, holding the staff upright and staring down the fiery beast with a glow in his eye. “The most disciplined, and the most dangerous.”

_“Come disciples of War…”_ said the voices of a thousand warriors escaping the bony maw of the creature, as it lifted its weapons. _“Feast upon my fires!”_

The crimson glow of its fires on the stone floored stopped against the runes of Gram, the glow of Soul Calibur and the light of Kilik’s staff. Siegfried looked to Sophitia, the first to come to his aid. Then he turned to Kilik, one of the few who knew his madness. No words, no orders were needed or given. Into the fires of war, the three ran, weapons raised and wind carrying their feet.

Helplessly, Zasalamel watched the battle before him, feeling the heat of the creature against his skin as he sat against one of the pillars. Most of what he saw was a chaos of light, the blood red of the creature, the sky blue of Soul Calibur, the gold of this mercenary’s blade, and the staff of the monk who bested him. Like the crashing drums of long forgotten gods above, their steel clashed, these three warriors against the spirit of so many consumed in the inferno of battle.

He knew the fight was hopeless, and, yet, he could not take his eyes off of it. The wildeye of this mercenary, the fury of the monk so palpable that he could feel it, and the stalwart will of this woman deflecting the fiery blades like any other steel. They would tire, they would be wounded, and, more than likely, they would die. And one day their bones would be dust, like his own countless times over.

But, as disillusioned by life as he was, after having had so many himself, he reminded himself that this is their only world. Their souls would dwell in this time, at the end of their god’s sixteenth century, and never another time will they ever set foot upon. And for this small speck of time, for a better handful of decades ahead, they will fight with every ounce of their being.

Such small things, the sense of such small life, was lost to him, after seeing an eternity of failures. Yet, here were three warriors, utter strangers at one time, two from faraway lands, and others down by the valley, here of their own will, together. Not that puppeteer act that other army served under, nor did any of them have much to gain.

_Nothing to gain but their own world._

The spirit of Soul Edge lifted its axe once more, and the woman underneath lifted her shield.

Like a fallen pillar, the creature brought down the axe upon Sophitia’s shield, forcing her to her knee. Ahead of her, Siegfried swung Gram out, deflecting the fiery sword, and making the creature step back. Ducking down, she let the axe drop away as she noticed a dent in her shield, smoldering even upon the steel.

In the small moment allotted to her, she glanced toward Kilik, who stepped away from the fray. Once more, he held the staff upright, and the glow down the length grew brighter, all the while with a wild-eye glare very much unlike what she had seen from the monk before. His hands started shake and his face contorted far beyond his usual calm.

Then the monk ran forward, holding the staff like a javelin before thrusting his hand forward and letting it fly. And through the air it flew, past her and into the side of the creature with a thunder like crack. The creature reeled, flailing its arms, with the rod, glowing of blue flame, embedded in its body.

Siegfried, ducked the axe in its flailing arm, and swept his sword, the blade tearing through the creature’s leg, forcing it onto its other knee.

Tightening her grip around the hilt of Soul Calibur, Sophitia ran forward, shield upraised and sword at the ready. Down came the fiery sword once more, but the shield took it with little more noticed than a fly. She fell her blade, through the creature’s shoulder, letting its arm fall and burning into the stone. Without a second though, she plunged the holy sword into creature’s neck. And like the call of a thousand crying vultures, it cried out, voices deafening and its eyes convulsing.

But Sophitia was not finished, pressing both shield and sword into its body, determined to finish the fight she set upon years before. Fire lapped about her, hotter than any forge she had served, burning the plates of upon her arm. The beast glared into her eyes, and she only stared back, gritting her teeth as the holy blade burned brighter and brighter.

_“Sophitia!”_ she heard Siegfried shout.

The body of the creature grew brighter as the horned skull face began to crumble and fall away. Sweat upon her face dried instantly, as the edges of her shield bent and deformed. Underneath her feet, the stone ground began to crumble and a terrible earthen groan deafened her to all else around her. 

Siegfried leapt, catching her with her shoulder, knocking her down and pulling her hands away from sword and shield both. Her vision grew blurry as she felt her back hit the ground. Before she could look toward the beast, thunder racked her ears…

Siegfried would not lift himself from Sophitia until the final echoes of that terrible unearthly crash sounded over the mountain range one last time and the ringing in his ears finally ceased. It was only then that he could hear coughs escape Sophitia’s lips.

He pushed himself to one knee, spotting the still glowing Soul Calibur by her side and catching the smell of burning flesh. Sophitia winced and coughed as the vanbrace and pauldron upon her arm glowed as though fresh from a forge and steam billowed from underneath. Without another thought, Siegfried tore the buckles undone and tossed the plates aside, opened the sleeve of her gambeson…

And Siegfried looked away the second he caught sight of the boiled skin.

_“Siegfried…”_ spoke Sophitia in a worn voice.

He looked to her, a faint smile to her lips as she grasped his hand.

“We’ll get to the others,” said Siegfried, heart in his throat. “One of them is bound to have _something—”_

All it took was the sound of steel on stone before Siegfried took the hilt of Gram into his hands. He turned and lifted his blade, just in time to stop the broken edge of Soul Edge from sinking into his neck. His burned, twisted reflection looked into his eyes, unfocused and wild.

With a roar, Siegfried forced himself to his feet and shoved the Azure Knight away. It stumbled, losing its balanced and keeping the sword up with both its hand and its claw. Upon its back, its wings spread, only for the fibers between its stems to crumble away into dust. The Azure Knight gritted its teeth, breathing heavily as a crater of molten rock behind it began to cool.

“ _You…”_ said the creature. “ _Did you have any hope you would escape?”_

Siegfried lowered his brow.

_“The furies will haunt you,”_ it went on. _“Only until your head sticks upon a pike like the murderer you are. Your crimes. Your stain…”_

The runes of Gram glowed down the flat of the blade, the old tale as fresh on his mind as the day he first read it.

“No,” said Siegfried. “No escape.”

Siegfried gripped the hilt tight.

“Just one more dragon to slay.”

They swung and their blades met, only for the shell of the Soul Edge to be struck aside to the stone floor. The Knight’s arm shook as its red eyes glared back like a wounded wolf, barely keeping its blade in hand.

“I… I know your game…” said the Azure Knight. “I know…”

Siegfried stared back.

“Then what are you so afraid of?”

The Azure Knight cried out a weak call, as it lifted its blade. Siegfried stepped aside, letting the broken blade fall past him and into the floor. Opening its clawed hand, the knight swung its talons, only for Siegfried to duck and keep his eyes on its unprotected leg. The mercenary swung its sword out, and Gram’s blade tore through plate and flesh.

The creature fell upon its knee, black ichor pouring from the stump just below its right thigh. In his frenzy, Siegfried lifted his blade just as the Azure Knight lifted its claw once more.

The claw that haunted Siegfried’s dreams, his waking life, and every step he took since the day he took the Soul Edge from the ghost of that accursed pirate.

_Avenge me._

Shouting like a vengeful lion, he brought down Gram, its golden runs following the sword’s path like the tail of a meteor. Like an axe through dried branches, the blade tore through its fingers, through its arm and into the stone floor. The creature howled, as black ichor pour in the gallons, its body flailing away as its claw lay still upon the stone.

_“Siegfried!”_

Turning his gaze to Sophitia, he caught sight of her just as she tossed the Soul Calibur towards him, its blade glinting in the air. Letting go of Gram, now lodged into the floor, he opened his hand, the hilt landing within. He swore that the blade was longer as he caught it, but as he stared down at the Azure Knight’s feeble form, it did not matter.

Taking the hilt into his hands, he lifted the blade. The Knight brought up the phantom of Soul Edge, the cursed sword’s eye shaking as it looked upon the holy sword’s tip, this doom of Damocles.

And down Siegfried plunged Soul Calibur, through the eye of Soul Edge, through its body and impaling it into the ground. The Azure Knight’s eyes convulsed once more before going utterly still. And still it lay, barely a final breath leaving its lips.

Inch by inch, starting from the wound, its body crumbled into black ash, up its body, up its neck and face, down its arm and through the hilt and blade of the phantom sword. Catching his breath, Siegfried watched. This Nightmare, this Fury, this Hell, crumbled before him into empty, meaningless specks.

In the mountain wind, the ashes scattered off the balcony and through the air until there was nothing left to see but holy sword embedded into the stone floor.

_The battle is done then._

Zasalamel, still seated by the remains of the pillar, watched as Siegfried stood, leaving the holy blade in the empty floor. The mercenary took a moment to breathe, before sweeping his gaze over the balcony. The woman leaned against her right arm, her left still limp upon the ground. Closer by, the monk lay unconscious on the floor. Curious, that. He threw the staff and then… The sorcerer missed what he did, but it was not suicide.

Zasalamel looked back to the center, and this mercenary, Siegfried he believed the woman called out, stepped toward him, eyes like smoldering blue flames under his bloodied mess of blonde hair. Every metallic step he took struck the sorcerer’s ears.

“So,” said Zasalamel, “death approaches me yet again.”

Siegfried planted his feet, looking out toward the mountain path. The sky was back to its midmorning blue, but road remained painted in red, the trail of bodies apparent even at that distance. The fighting was done, and it looked like the lord in command had fallen, with the mercenary band carrying each other toward the entrance of the cathedral.

“Death,” said Siegfried, turning his glare toward the sorcerer, “had come to many this day.”

The sorcerer remained silent.

“So many dead,” the mercenary went on, “so many lost…”

“All of them,” said Zasalamel, “mere gadflies—”

The mercenary reached down and grabbed Zasalamel by the front of his robes and lifted him off of the ground with one hand, the broken collar bone burning from within and his broken knee threatening to fall off. As the sorcerer struggled to breathe under the pain, he looked down and Siegfried’s eyes glared with renewed fire and flashed his teeth.

“Bergen, Landau, Konrad, Eberhard, Franz,” snapped Siegfried. “All of them I had known, and have likely died in this snowy wasteland. And _you_ wished to sacrifice all of them, destroy the lives of everyone waiting for them back home, the mothers that bore them, the fathers that strengthened their arms! All of this… _So you would not live again!?_ ”

“You…” said Zasalamel. “Did you not sacrifice many? What was _your_ purpose? _Your grand scheme!?”_

Siegfried lowered his brow.

“I was lost,” said the mercenary, his voice mournful. “And that was enough to turn me a puppet to the powerful.”

“And you think you’ve atoned for your sins?” mocked Zasalamel.

“No,” said Siegfried. “And I never will. The axe man will may well await me in the end.”

“Then what is your point!?” shouted the sorcerer. “When nothing but death awaits me…”

“It awaits us all,” said Siegfried. “But if I am damned by every land I step into, I can be damned peacefully knowing the Soul Edge is dust. That when I am given a sword and a choice, I am free to cut my own path.”

“I’ve seen the grand scheme of life,” said the Sorcerer. “This will be nothing, nothing but an extension on everyone’s short, miserable existence.”

Siegfried tightened his grip and extended his arm. Zasalamel realized that he was no longer able to scrape the stone floor with his feet as wind kicked up his robes.

“Then you can live,” said the mercenary, “one more meaningless life.”

The mercenary opened his hand, and Zasalamel felt himself fall, the cathedral, his found citadel slipping from his grasp. Any other man would panic to the point of mindless, but instead the sorcerer simply waited to meet the ground in an all too familiar exodus from life.

But he could not help but grin. This mercenary had only seen one era, one generation of ideals. Yet, it reminded him of his first taste of life, his own fights, his own will to maintain a precious few decades. And, while it does throw his own plans to the fire, the era of Soul Edge had come to an end. His own burden of endless life will go on, but this curse upon humanity had come to an end. Perhaps, it was time for a new way, a new path…

“Guide them,” said an old forgotten memory.

A new time, a new era awaited him after all.

Kilik woke up with start, a loose tile digging into his side. Like a flood, his last waking memory returned to him, as his blurry gaze swept across the balcony floor. Instinctively, he reached for his chest.

In his hand, he felt his necklace. With a couple of tugs, he breathed knowing it was tied around his neck once more.

“I guessed you needed that.”

After a couple of blinks, the monk’s vision cleared. He looked up at Siegfried, kneeling close by and offering his hand.

Kilik let out a laugh. “You catch on quick.”

The monk took his hand and Siegfried pulled him to his feet. He looked upon the balcony, the ends of Soul Calibur and Gram embedded into the ground, and Dvapara-Yuga laid out close by. Sophitia waved at him as she sat, her left arm limp upon the stone floor.

“She…?”

“We’ll need to move quickly,” said Siegfried.

Kilik looked her burned arm up and down as he walked toward her.

“Actually,” he said, stepping toward her and feeling a small bottle hanging from his belt, “I might be able to…”

And then a glint caught his eye. He had thought it was a headache coming in, but then he turned his gaze toward the Soul Calibur. The center of its crystal like guard shone bright, and quickly the light enveloped the hilt, before pouring down the length of the blade. He then turned his eyes toward Dvapara-Yuga, a similar light down its length shining. Quickly, both weapons grew too bright to see.

But then the light died down, and only to leave an empty floor space and cleaved hole. Faint blue sparks rose into the sky, before leaving his sight entirely.

And between them, the shining, golden runes of Gram went dark. There the blade itself remained, imbedded in the stone, silent and cold.

“Is it…?” said Sophitia, her voice strained. “Is it over?”

Kilik looked down at his palm, empty without the staff to carry. But then he closed his hand, nodding and reaching for the bottle upon his belt.

“Perhaps,” said the monk as he knelt down and took Sophitia’s left hand into his, “at the very least, _our_ fight is truly done.”

Sophitia winced as Kilik spread the poultice up and down her wrist with his fingers. He felt every boil, every inch of damaged skin, noticed what she reacted to and what she barely noticed, and he pressed his lips together.

“We won’t need to remove it,” he said as Sophitia looked up at him. “But I can’t promise you’ll be able to use it the same way again.”

But the warrior merely nodded. She then raised a brow and looked past the monk.

“Siegfried?”

Kilik turned his gaze to the center of the balcony. The mercenary stood, hand upon the hilt of Gram, his head lowered and eyes closed. He then let go, lowered his hand, and stepped toward her, leaving the blade in the ground.

“The beast is slain,” said Siegfried. “I will ask no more of the sword than that.”

Kilik turned to Sophitia, tearing off his shirt.

“Let’s not keep the others waiting,” he said, wrapping her arm in the torn cloth.

“Get a fire going,” said Salia, stepping about the inside of the cathedral’s entrance, the remaining mercenaries carrying the wounded inside. “And keep an eye out.”

Landau limped on, looking down by the path before turning his head toward the fortress.

“You’re expecting something else?” he asked.

“We were attacked by walking skeletons.”

Maxi leaned against the wall, as Xianghua stood by him, sword drawn. Kneeling next to them, Taki stoically wrapped cloth about her upper arm, joining the half dozen already about her legs, shoulders and waist. She blinked her blackened right eye, as Mitsurugi shambled in.

Without another word, Landau turned to the deeper halls of the Cathedral.

As Mitsurugi sat against a wall, Taki tossed him the remaining cloth, which he caught with little more notice than a buzzing fly. He tore off the meager remains of his shirt, revealing scars telling of many battles and duels, and an old puncture just over his shoulder.

“See to the others,” said the swordsman, waving off the other mercenaries and letting the roll open over the floor. “This is not my first time.”

Salia watched the rest of the company gather, listening to the grunts and wincing of her friends, and there was seldom a tile on the floor free of drops of blood. But she forced herself to grin at the smiles and laughter that followed. There would be a time for mourning, but, for now, they let them embrace whoever they needed to, grin when they can and drink what they can find.

She looked to the distant balcony, spotting only a single sword standing in the middle. The sky had cleared, its blood red color vanished, leaving the approaching midday sun to bring some measure of warmth upon this cold mountain.

_Is it over?_

Too battered to move, the company had watched the fiery madness from a distance. Pillars had fallen, one of the rooftops had caved in, all the while a menagerie of blue, gold and red light clashed violently against each other to the battle drum of steel. Then thunder struck, the sky cleared, and only then did they dare to enter the forsaken cathedral.

“ _Salia!”_ Landau called out, nudging his head toward the deeper halls. Three figures in the shadows of the pillars stepped into the light.

Sophitia hung off Siegfried’s shoulder with her right arm, wincing as he continued on, her arm hanging in a sling of red cloth. Kilik walked close by, light dancing across the jewel hanging over his bared chest.

Sprinting past Salia, Xianghua cast her sword aside, and leapt into Kilik’s arms. She remained lifted off of her feet in their tight embraced, the monk leaning back but his feet holding true. When he finally let her down, Maxi had caught up and they traded grips while Siegfried kept moving toward the company.

Landau offered a hand, and he and Siegfried gently let Sophitia onto the stone floor. The warrior let out a worn breath, as she shifted her left arm into a better position and leaned back against the wall.

“Is she…?” asked Salia.

Siegfried nodded. “So long as we’re not going anywhere right away.”

“Is… Is it over?”

The mercenary looked over his shoulder, toward the balcony in the distance. All was still, and the midday sun shone upon its remaining stone.

“Soul Edge… The Azure Knight…” he said, words hesitant, as though he can hardly believe what he was about to say.

Siegfried swept his gaze over the rest of the company, as she heard her men shuffle in their plated armor and stand to their feet. Salia could see the weight of the fight in his eyes lift, and while he would not smile, he nodded.

There was no cheer from his answer, even if the captain felt a kind of relief she had never known. Even in victory, Salia stood frozen. So many had died just hours before, and Siegfried, though controlled, was responsible for the death of many others. She could not cry out in victory, could not celebrate. That cheerful boy was gone, the one that wanted to be a hero, the one, who dragged them all from the abyss of poverty, all gone to a monster…

_But that monster, too, is gone._

Salia felt her hand shake. Siegfried was not there for her he was needed years before. But he had returned, never asking for forgiveness or to return to Schwarzwind. He was simply there, sword in hand, because he wanted to. And, after doing what he can, there he was, standing and utterly lost as to what to do next.

Casting her shield aside, its steel clattering against the stone, she reached up wrapped her arms about his neck and held him close, ignoring the pinch of their armors.

“Salia…” Siegfried uttered, stiff in her arms.

“Just… just hold me, you damn fool,” she said, tears breaking from her eyes. All of those attacks on villages, on armies, mass graves and all else this vile seed had brought would finally, truly come to an end. And all she could do as her face soaked in painful memories was hold him, feeling the strength of her old friend’s arms and letting the sorrow release from her heart. No one spoke, but no one needed to.

They had won. The time had come to mourn.

Sophitia watched as Schwarzwind readied the pyres just outside the cathedral’s entrance. The sun was setting, and the cold of the mountain night drew upon them. Fire would last them through the night, but the journey needed to follow.

Once again, the warrior adjusted her sling. The pain had subsided, but old habits of hers still made her wince. Up the arms and just upon her left breast, she still felt the phantoms of the burns, and the cloak she wore saved them from the bitter touch of the wind.

“Holding up alright?” asked Taki, covered in bandages herself, her eyes on the pyres.

“We fought,” said Sophitia, “we won and we’ll be heading home. The gods were merciful it would seem.”

Taki shrugged. “They gave you a shield and everything.”

The warrior smirked. “I remembered to raise it this time.”

Taki huffed a laugh. “And you refrained from shattering it.”

“Not for a want of trying.”

At the center row of pyres, Salia lit the torches in her hand, while the other mercenaries leaned their own torches to light them in her fire. One by one, the pyres were lit, the fallen granted one last passage of warmth in this cold desolate mountain range. Kilik stood on the other side, calling out in his own language and holding up one hand. All the while, Siegfried stood by Salia, and they remained in silence.

“Back east then?” Taki.

Sophitia smiled, as her mind turned to home. “I may have nearly burned to death, but it was cruel leaving Rothion the children.”

“I’m sure their aunt helped,” said Taki.

Sophitia gave a long sigh. “Like I said. Cruel.”

Taki lifted her brow. “I won’t pry.”

The warrior smiled.

“Back to your lands?”

“Well,” said Taki, “I should at least join you in Sparta. I… owe him my life.”

“That is kind of you,” said Sophitia. “But what awaits you after that?”

“Old demons that need rest,” said Taki. “My clan had fallen into disarray and they are not going to hunt themselves.”

“And after that?”

Taki lifted her brow.

“Do I need to plan that far?”

“No,” said Sophitia, looking at Taki. “Just know that I will never forget everything you’ve done for us. And if you ever need a home…”

Taki smiled. “I… will remember that.”

All the pyres were set aflame, their smoke carrying the dead to their new home, to the stars and wherever their spirits may lead them.


	11. Peaceful Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only when you stare into the abyss can you know what had paved your path. The tiles are set, and cannot be uprooted. But a new path can always be found, and only when you turn away.
> 
> To those who have sunk into the unfathomable depths and have found the surface again, breathe the free air again. The child you were is gone, but the monster had breathed its last. Set a course for your future and swim to shore.

All else were asleep, as Siegfried took his time with the tankard in his hand, tasting the familiar brew that Landau swore by. The armor was lighter than it looked, but after placing all of it in a sack, his body still felt it necessary to remind him of every spot it leaned against or was strapped too tightly. He finished the brew, let the fire heat his face one more time and gave one more satisfied sighed.

But he had already decided what to do.

He picked up the sack carrying his armor, and put the strap over his shoulder. While he winced, it hung comfortable after a few shrugs. Taking one last gaze upon the Schwarzwind, the company that he and Salia formed, he gave a quiet nodded, and turned to the arched entrance of the cathedral.

_I guess she slept somewhere else…_

Siegfried stepped over one sleeping mercenary after another until he was out of the fire’s inner circle, and onto the stone floor he continued on. Truth be told, he did not think much of where he would go. Not that he had time, of course. But it could not be here, not in his own homeland, not where so many people died by his own foolish mistakes. Closer and closer, he approached the entrance.

“Siegfried?”

The mercenary planted his feet as though he was just caught stealing a horse. Breathing deep, he turned, weight of the sack on his back, to face Salia. For the first time since this venture, she had been out of her armor, keeping her cloak close. There they stared at each other.

“I can’t stay here,” said Siegfried. “Not with anyone. More vengeful ghosts will come after me until the day I die. We both know that.”

Salia stood there.

“You’ve built a far better company than I could have envisioned,” Siegfried went on.

She closed her eyes, a tear dropping from her eye.

Siegfried sighed.

_Please, don’t make this difficult…_

“I’m only…”

“We need you back,” said Salia, opening her reddened eyes.

The mercenary ceased his words.

“Half of our company is either dead, or no longer able to fight,” she said.

Siegfried shook his head. “And what could I possibly give…?”

“Hope,” she said. “The same hope you gave all of us years ago.”

Siegfried could not find the words.

“Yes, I’ve done everything I could,” she said, tears cascading down her face. “We’ve pulled through again and again. But now we’ve just been hit harder than any other malfested horde could do to us.”

The mercenary looked past her. He had helped with the pyres, but it was only then that he realized how few are left. Many of the fallen were new, but just as many were old friends, those he had talked into joining.

“I can give orders, and I can count coin,” she went on. “But I… I can’t lift their spirits like you could. I’m looking at the cold facts, and I need them to look into their hearts.”

“I can’t stay here…”

“We don’t need to be here.”

Siegfried gritted his teeth.

“No,” he said. “I… I am not that boy anymore.”

Salia looked him in the eye. “You are not that monster, either.”

Siegfried looked down at his right hand, upon which that old, grotesque claw had grown. And he could see it happening once more, where the fingers met and deformed. And from there, villages burned, men, women and children were harvested, blood soaked the land…

_Avenge me…_

“I was not there when you needed me.”

Gently, Salia placed her hands upon his palm and wrist. The beating of his heart calmed as he looked into her eyes.

“You are here,” she said with a teary eyed smile, “where we needed you the most.”

It was impossible, what she had asked him. There will be those who still want vengeance. If, by some curse, Soul Edge returned, he dreaded to think of what would happen. Nightmares would follow him and there would be blood again.

_I need them to look into their hearts…_

Yet, as she held his arm, and as he looked back at her, Siegfried gave thought, for the first time in an eternity, to what he wanted. And as he stood there, the notion of wandering alone down a desolate mountain pass and into the unknown made his whole body weary. Others may not let go, and will never know the entire story.

But as he dug into his heart, there was only one answer, and that answer lied by a fire and in the laughter of long lost friends.

“I…” said Siegfried, forcing himself to smile. “I suppose you could use another sword.”

And never, not when they first met, not when she agreed to his harebrained idea, nor when they received their first task, did Siegfried see Salia smile so brightly.

At another pull of his hand, Siegfried stepped forward, away from the cold, away from the lonely road, and back to the fire of the few who knew his story.

Evening had already come upon them once more by the time they reached the crossroad at the foot of the Alps. Kilik followed the company, wincing every few gallops from the slowly healing gash on his back.

“Kilik?”

The monk turned to Xianghua, eye brows raised.

“I am well,” said Kilik, straightening his back.

“Probably would’ve been better,” said Maxi, his horse stopping beside him, “if you had us coming along.”

Kilik gave a light glare, which only drew a laugh from the sailor.

“You’re heading east, then?” asked Salia, Siegfried and Landau by her side.

The monk nodded.

“Things we must see to,” said Taki, her hands on the reins with Sophitia holding onto her with her remaining arm.

“And home we must return,” said Kilik. “Siegfried!”

The mercenary raised his brow as the monk offered his hand. Then he nodded, grasping Kilik arm and grinning.

“Thank you,” said Siegfried.

“It had been an honor,” said Kilik. “May you find peace.”

The mercenary nodded. “As good a time as any to start looking.”

Salia smiled as their eyes met and the rest of their company gathered. And it was only then that Kilik noticed that Mitsurugi rode among them.

“You’re not coming with us?” asked Taki.

_Was that regret I heard?_

The swordsman shook his head, as Arthur turned his horse beside him and grinned.

“This company will need all the swords it can get!” said Mitsurugi. “And there never seems to be a dull moment there.”

Taki nodded, before turning her horse away and toward the east.

“Keep yourself out of trouble,” she said.

The swordsman laughed. “ _Never!_ ”

Kilik smiled.

_Quite the company, indeed._

He then gazed up upon the Alps, looking at the hinted passage up the mountains and into the valleys. It was over. The curse had been lifted, the harvested souls were finally at peace and his journey to the west led him, at long last, home.

Perhaps he would never set foot upon this land again. Perhaps Siegfried, Schwarzwind, Mitsurugi and all others upon this tale will become legend in his later years, granting him a smile, horror and sadness. But always they will be there, etched in his mind, granting, in even his darkest days, Hope.

To the east they rode, through the Black Forest and ever onward home.

The mountains to the north loomed over the plains and olive threes of Laconia. A horse drawn carriage came to a halt, the door opened, and Taki stepped out, before offering a hand.

“I am well,” said Sophitia, stepping down, minding a skirt that she’s never quite gotten used to.

Even after some travel and a few days at home, her arm still felt stiff and painful to move in certain ways. She stepped toward the foundations of a long forgotten ruin, a simple Spartan building that the locals were certain held one of the old brotherhoods, amidst a modest forest of olive trees. She straightened the golden laurel in her hair as she gazed over the mostly abandoned field.

_I can’t promise this is the right spot, but this is what I can do._

“Here,” said Cassandra, holding a golden urn, matching her blonde hair.

Sophitia nodded to her sister, and took the urn in hand.

“Thank you.”

“Hey!” Cassandra smiled. “Anytime!”

Without another word, Sophitia stepped toward the foundations, opening the lid. Gently, she knelt down, before pouring the ashes upon the stone and dirt before her. Closing the urn once more, she remained kneeling as Cassandra joined her.

_This is… what you wanted right?_

In truth, she did not know. Words were beyond Aeon in their final meeting, and, inside, she wish she had taken the time to truly know him. But she always knew his pride, his desire to prove himself, and could think of no better spot for his remains.

Tears trickled down her face. It is done. Aeon had returned home after a tale she could never know.

Gently, she felt Cassandra rubbing her back, as Taki held her shoulder. But silently they mourned on that peaceful, starry night, her tears soaking the ground she knelt on.

As she wiped her tears, her gaze fell on a cloud over the distant mountains. One of the lumps on top, turned to her and eyes lit over a smile in the distance.

_Aeon?_

She blinked, and the cloud drifted away.

But perhaps that was all she needed to see.

Slowly, Sophitia stood to her feet, breathing in the quiet, clear night. She turned to Cassandra, giving her a nod.

“Let’s return home,” said Sophitia, stepping toward the carriage. “Taki?”

For a moment, the demon hunter was silent, and Sophitia feared she may have disappeared once again. But when she turned to her, Taki smiled.

“I could use some time to heal,” said the demon hunter. “If you don’t mind.”

Sophitia smiled. “Never.”

Siegfried stood at the crossroads, watching the messenger hurry away, his horse leaving dust in its wake. He knew this route well, and how the man will get there. Down a hill, a right turn, and then past the Black Forest and all the way home.

_I’m sorry mother. But I can’t come back quite yet._

“You’re sure about this?” asked Salia, something long and wrapped up under her arm.

The mercenary turned to her, the rest of the company behind her gathering their things and readying their horses. Landau shouted quick orders as Mitsurugi strapped his sword to his steed. With a heavy heart, he nodded.

“Years must pass by,” said Siegfried, with a sigh, “and even then the wounds may not heal. I can’t endanger her knowing someone has a dagger to my back. The Azure Knight and Siegfried Schtauffen will not part from each other in the minds of many.”

Salia placed her hand on his shoulder, giving him a smile.

“Then let’s give that name new meaning,” she said, presenting the wrapped item to him with both hands. “We’ll show the whole world who you really are, and bury that accursed demon into the ground and out of memory forever.”

Raising a brow, Siegfried took up the gift, feeling its weight, the weight of a sword, and tore off the cloth. He gazed upon the hilt and golden guard, before drawing it slightly to admire the oiled steel within. Seldom had he seen a great sword this fine, its weight light for its size and shining in the morning sun.

Starting over, then. Reforming Schwarzwind, finding new faces and training new arms for battle. But they had come a long way since that fateful day, with a barely sketched out plan and a handful of ill-gotten gold. The way had been pitched battle after battle for some, and through the fires of Hell and back for himself. But every swing of the sword, every touch of madness and every battle won served as a hammer for the steel in their arms. Those who yet lived needed to become stronger. Those they had lost needed to be honored.

_And to live, to remain true, and to continue to fight… That will be my redemption._

Siegfried sheathed the blade and mounted his horse. Down the light of dawn, they rode, to the west, leaving their Nightmares, and putting the accursed castle of Ostrheinburg miles behind them.

_I swear, Herodotus had the organization of a NaNo—_

“Mr. Worthington?” Zasalamel heard from the intercom on his desk. He raised a brow, placed his book down and pressed on the red button.

“Yes, Cecilia,” he said.

“The prime minister is on his way,” said Cecilia from the other end. “I’m sorry, but his pilot’s a little…”

Zasalamel gave a chuckle.

“Lost?” he said. “I’ll light up the landing strip then. Will there be anything else?”

“Not at the moment, sir.”

“Thank you.”

The sorcerer stood from his desk, and stepped toward a bookshelf filled to the brim with volumes. With a disappointed sigh, he placed his copy of _The Persian Wars_ between his Homer and Thucydides codices. Though he knew where to look to find better sources, even to pass the time, his heart sunk when he realized that this modern world and its bureaucracy would likely mean starting a new life and going through the pains of childhood again with little gain.

Yet, as he walked along the familiar stone floor, he gazed past the Alps and toward the towering cities of Berlin and beyond. There was a time when he thought nothing fundamental had truly changed. Civilizations had fallen as drastically as they rose, from wars, even engulfing the entire world twice over, from plagues and all other forms of scourge upon mankind.

But even as humanity continued to make the same mistakes in the newest ways, and their leaders making their excuses, lightning was caught in a bottle and things grew. New lands discovered, new technology and new understandings were found. As tinkerers found ways to communicate and travel, leaving pen, paper and horse behind, Zasalamel felt young again.

The old sorcerer felt himself laughing at the concept. An old world of rivalries still lingered, but a younger generation is discovering more than the elders could ever imagine. There was a time when he would call such an age naïve. But, then again, this is the only world they knew and who is an old relic like himself to naysay them.

Wars will follow. The book shelf near him was a constant reminder of that unshakable pattern. Humans have their own nature and old hatreds will spark conflict even if the rest of the world is past it.

Turning his gaze from the city, his eyes fell upon an old, war-torn balcony. For once, however, war-torn was an understatement. Only pieces of the pillars around it still stood, the fiery beast’s footsteps still left many of the tiles deformed, and whatever was not melted looked torn by claws.

And, embedded in the center of the balcony, that old blade still stood, its runes dark like a long unlit candle. The war cry of that warrior of old still rang in his ears, and somewhere in the valley, which he did not have the heart to search, the corpse of a sorcerer remained. A long time ago, he thought this hero was a brute, a murderer who showed little empathy even when he was broken and defeated.

But that was not how history remembered him. The Azure Knight would remain a legend nearly impossible to prove, scientists, as knowledgeable as they are, attributing the whole Evil Seed to a plague throughout Europe. Historians, however, would lap up stories of Schwarzwind and their kind and charismatic leader, Siegfried Schtauffen and agree that he lived and served as a mercenary. Naïve fools, the lot of them,

Yet, the Soul Edge never returned.

Can humanity change? Zasalamel would once again walk the earth, and, when he sought out the mercenary, he saw not the brute that destroyed him. He still remembered the generous amount of coin he received from their leader when he mocked being a beggar. Nothing could have possibly changed what he had done and the lives he had taken away. But onto the new path he strode, and he never looked back.

Research had eradicated plagues, cooler heads dismissed nuclear war, and the entire world was broadcasted from a device in the palms of every hand on earth. Whatever old legacy leaders and politicians were trying to hold onto, the rest of the world was trying to move on.

Humanity needed to change. Humanity needed to look beyond.

_It will be a dull eternity otherwise._

The chopping blades of the helicopter finally reached his ears, as the sorcerer let out a relieved sigh. This new Prime Minister was young, full of ideas and hopes. A good start, perhaps, but ideas are only ore, formless on their own. And chip away the sorcerer will, until he can forge a blade that can cut the old world to ribbons.

_Let’s forge the new path, a new stage of history…_


End file.
